Games
by hulucthulhu
Summary: Natasha and Clint play a weekly game of strip poker, but this time Clint ends up baring more then he intended too. Lots of angst, and some sexy things. Decided to make this into a series instead of a one shot! Relationship trials, missions, drama, angst, hurt, redemption, family. Budapest chap 7 and Avengers events from 10-14.
1. Chapter 1

**_Authors Note: _**_This was supposed to be just a little short drabble convo, and then two and a half hours 2700+ words later whoops I clintasha'd again. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but depending on the reviews, I might write more. Though I know I'm a little too adult, and with the recent crack down, an invite to archive of our own would be really appreciated. Can't wait to hear what you think, enjoy!_

She didn't let Clint play poker with anyone else. He had a gambling problem, and she wasn't bailing his ass out from under loan sharks again anytime soon. To his credit, he never touched his emergency stash, which was more than most people make in their entire lives. But still, she hated that he'd rather go hungry and play cards than be stable. Instead she played with him once a week, strip poker. The only thing they could lose there was clothes, and they'd been naked around each other plenty of times and neither had qualms about nudity. He smirked as she pulled her blue t-shirt over her head. She was losing, and he wasn't going to let her forget it. He hated losing, because he always had less clothes on then her anyways. They were both barefoot already, and now sans shirts. They both had unbeatable poker faces, so it was more about psyching the other one out to cover their bluffs. It was more of a thrill than he ever got in illegal casinos.

They never really said much during their games, she drank her vodka. Delicate sips. A lot of delicate sips. and he just drank his whiskey straight from the bottle. Just sitting at an old table in Clint's apartment. It was a large studio apartment with a good view of the city and not much furniture besides an old table and a couple chairs. A large bed. A wall of weapons, and practice targets at the other end of the room. He'd paid well to have to wall sound proofed. It was quiet, and calm. Much like Clint. Natasha liked it here.

She threw her hand down, Clint dropped his. Fuck him, seriously. He had good luck tonight.

"Pants off, Romanoff."

"You've been waiting years to say that, haven't you?" She stood up and wiggled her hips out of her skinny jeans.

They'd never slept together, well they had, but they'd never had sex. He had feelings for her, but he wasn't going to admit it. She was his partner, and he didn't want to replace her so scaring her off was not an option. Smart, funny, and damn did those curves make his mouth water. He took a large swig out of his bottle.

She sat back down, she spread her legs wide in attempts to distract him. Now is when things usually got ridiculous between them. He'd seen all of her before, and vice versa. But they never got bored of trying to ruffle each others feathers. There had been attempts at seduction, pranked bottles, even random sparing matches mid game, just to throw the other off their card game. They always ended up even.

He spotted a bruise on her hipbone, dipping just below the lacy waistband of her boy shorts. It wasn't a battle bruise, he could see that even in the dim light, he was hawkeye after all. No it had the particular round shape and petechiae of a hickey. Now that was something he'd never seen on her before and before he could even stop himself he blurted out,

"How many men have you been with?"

it registered as soon as he finished the sentence, and he immediately braced to be hit. He was met with silence though, he looked up. She still had her poker face on.

"Four," she said, and looked back at her cards.

"Shut the fuck up. The infamous seductress Natasha Romanoff has only been with four men?"

"Two were women," she said almost annoyed. His brain short circuited as he pictured her lips on the thighs of another woman. He was glad he was wearing jeans. "And being a good seductress means you don't have to sleep with them to get what you want. I don't even kiss most marks."

okay, she had made a good point. He couldn't help but be a little jealous at the four people.

"So who were they?"

She flashed her cards, and damn, she'd beat him. He took off his watch.

"Weak!"

"It counts."

"It doesn't but I dont feel like sparring over rules tonight."

"So who were they," he inquired again as he shuffled.

"Well, in the Room we were taught how to seduce, both men and women. We were all paired with a boy and a girl our own age and yeah."

"Jesus, how old were you?" He'd heard things about her training in the Red Room in Russia, but this was new.

"When we got to that part, 14."

"Who were the other two?"

She rolled her eyes at him, she knew he'd keep asking until she told him.

"Murdock, and Hill."

"Hill? andDaredevil Seriously?"

"Hill and I weren't an item, and that's all I'm saying."

"Murdock and I were together for a while, if you didn't notice."

"I did," he growled. He never liked Matt Murdock. He always knew he was just using Natasha to get over that Elektra bitch. He remembers finding Natasha surrounded by empty bottles and using a picture of him as practice target the night they broke up. He actually saw her cry. But it had been a a couple years since then.

"So who's that from?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself."

"Couldn't help it," he winked. She glared. "Was it Hill?"

"No."

"Someone new?"

"No."

"Murdock?"

"My last mission was in San Francisco."

"Jesus fuck, Tash! Are you fucking kidding me?" He threw his cards down and stood up and walked away from the table to the fridge to grab another bottle. Anger, jealousy, rage flowed over him. He was just going to hurt her again. She didn't deserve that. She deserved someone loyal.

She smirked and layed her cards on the table.

"Pants off, Clint."

Now they were going to have a problem. He was half hard, somewhere between imagining the firey redhead in bed, and he sudden rage he'd gotten a little worked up. and its not like she wouldn't notice when he was down to just his boxer briefs.

"I dont want to play this stupid fucking game anymore," he said leaning on the closed fridge, not facing her. He wasn't sure what game he was even talking about.

"The rules are we play till someone loses their underwear."

"I know what the fucking rules are, _Natasha._" okay, that'd come out a little rough.

"What the fuck is your problem, Barton?"

He just shook his head.

"Is it Matt that's your problem? Or all four of them?" She stood up from the rable and stepped towards him, "how many people has Clint Barton slept with? He never misses what he aims for after all."

He mumbled something at the fridge.

"Speak the fuck up, Clint."

"43."

"Oh for fucksake," she turned and walked back to her pile of clothes. "You have a problem with my relationship, and you've fucked 43 women? You have no right to fucking talk."

his body snapped around, "You're not with him anymore!" he screamed. She was right, he didn't have a right to judge how many people she'd slept with. it could have been 1000, he didn't care about that. He cared about her getting hurt. His series of flings had racked up a number, but he didn't care about any of them. He never saw them again. He saw Natasha every day. He cared about her. When he heard Murdock's name he could only think of her with tears running down her face, a gun in one hand and a bottle in the other. He also couldn't help but think of the way he'd kissed her that night. He shouldn't have. She was drunk, and upset. He couldn't stop himself. He'd just wanted to stop her hurting. He remembered the taste of vodka and salt from her tears on her lips. They'd never talked about it. It was like it had never happened. But it had, and every day since then he knew he couldn't live without her by his side in any capacity.

"Everyone has needs," she said pulling her jeans up. "Clearly you take care of yours, why shouldn't I take care of mine?" There was venom in her voice. They'd gotten in arguments before, but never a fight like this.

"I'd never hurt you like that," he said quietly.

She'd stopped. She still looked furious, but she was just watching him. His jaw was grinding and his hands were clenched. His eyes were locked on hers. There was no backing down now. He wasn't going to do this half way.

"I would never use you, Nat. and I can't see you so...broken up..again. I can't handle that. It's like watching the most tenacious, beautiful thing just sit down and die. I didn't have a fucking heart to break before I met you Romanoff. Now I can't stop thinking about you. Getting jealous of goddamn marks. Worrying about you. and I will put an arrow in the eye of anyone who dares hurt you like that again."

Her face had slowly turned from furious to a murky confusion and frustrated combination. He feared whatever was about to leave her mouth.

"I'm not your responsibility," she said tightly.

"You're more than my best friend, you're more than a lover, you're my partner, Nat. You are entirely my responsibility. Would you be playing strip poker with me if I wasn't yours?"

She looked away, they both knew the answer to that. She'd never say it out loud though. She just looked at the floor, he refused to take his eyes off of her. He could see the tears well up in her eyes out of frustration. Way to fucking go, Barton, he thought. He took a couple steps towards her.

"Nata-"

She back handed him hard. He saw white for a moment. his face stung and his jaw hurt. He'd deserved that. They watched each others eyes, it was back to playing poker. Except this time neither of them were hiding anything. Her blues were running over with anger and fear. His steely eyes were filled with sorrow and longing. He closed the distance between him, taking her face in his hands, calloused thumbs brushing away her tears.

"I'm sorry, Nat. I'm so sorry," he said softly. He kissed her forehead gently. "I'm need you, I-I don't know what to do without you. I'm sorry. Please don't cry," he kissed her forehead again. He tilted her face up, and kissed her softly. She tasted like vodka and tears. He wasn't going to run away this time. to his surprise, she pressed into the kiss back. He felt like there was lightening in her lips, it was perfect. She pulled away and stepped back. She looked conflicted. "Don't go, not tonight. Please."

She bit her lip. She'd never expected any of this. Not that she hadn't wanted it, she did. She just never thought it'd actually happened, pushed it back to her mind. But here she was, in her partners apartment, half naked, crying, and wishing he'd just pick her up and kiss her again.

"Okay," she said so quietly he could barely hear her. He stepped forward again, his hands reached her waist, and his lips took her mouth. This time he didn't hold back. All the passion and longing between them went into it. Neither of them had been kissed like that before in their lives. He bit at her bottom lip, and her tongue teased at his. Her arms were around his neck. His hands slid under her round ass and he lifted her as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. She kissed down his neck and he carried her to the bed. He set her down gently, leaning over and kissing down her neck, her shoulders, between her breasts down to her stomach. he pulled off her jeans, and stood up to look at the sight.

The infamous Natasha Romanoff laid on his bed, almost naked, propped up on her elbows, with nothing but need and want in her eyes. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

"You're so gorgeous, babe."

She blushed a little, it wasn't the first time she'd heard that. but it felt like it. she Sat up and pulled him down to her, kissing him while she unclasped her bra. She tossed it to the side. His strong hands moved her panties down her hips and legs and discarded them. her hand gripped his neck, her nails pressing into the skin. He kissed sloppily down her neck, letting his stubble scrape as he went. She shivered a little every time. He made it to her breasts. They looked like a work of art to him. He laved a tongue over a nipple, and let his teeth gently nip at it. her breath hitched. he sealed his mouth around it and sucked and rolled his tongue over it. His other hand cupping the other breast, thumb swirling around the peak of it. She gently bucked her hips wanting more. He kissed down her body once more. He got to her hips, and he came upon the mark. Another man's mark. He stopped. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't want you sleeping with anyone else," he said sternly.

"If you don't, I wont."

"Done."

He kissed her hard. She guided his hand on her hip to her center, "please," she mumbled against his lips. this he could definitely oblige. his fingers ran over her slit. She was wet already, but he wanted more. his fingers delved into her, brushing over her clit. She sighed when he did, so he did it again. rubbing tight circles over the hard nub until her legs quivered.

she moaned out a russian curse and kissed him harder, nails biting into his neck, as her teeth caught on her lip. he removed his hand and scooted her up the bed, reaching into his nightstand for a condom.

"are you clean?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Don't bother with that, I want to feel only you."

"But yo-"

"I have an IUD, don't worry about it."

He shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. He leaned back, unzipping his tight pants, pulling them and his underwear down to his knees.

She whistled and winked at him, "Hello, Mr. Barton."

He smiled and slided into her. Her eye lids fluttered, and her hands gripped the sheets. No one he'd ever fucked compared to this. This was more, this was so much more than a quick fuck.

They quickly found rhythm, no one knew each others body better then they did.

"Tash, I-I never imagined anything so good, shit." He gave her a heated kiss, before rolling them over in a smooth move so she was on top. She looked like a goddess; the way her hair had messed up in the sexiest way, her mouth slightly open as she panted, the blush that had spread from her cheeks to her chest. His hands running over her perfect curves as their bodies met in the middle. "I've wanted this for so long." She rolled her hips and gasped. She found the perfect spot, and they found a new rhythm.

"Fuck, Clint. I'm so-fuck," her head dropped back. He sat up and embraced her. Tight thrusts hitting a spot deep in her, making her gasp into his kiss. They'd needed this, so badly. She felt her orgasm pooling in her abdomen. Suddenly, like a rubber band snapping, she came. She saw white, and she bit into his shoulder to stop herself from moaning too loud, she tastes the salt of his sweat and coppery blood from breaking skin. She road out her orgasm, it rocked her body. She shook and clenched, and the sum of it all drove him over the edge. He climaxed too, he couldn't stop himself from moaning out her name.

She rolled off of him and collapsed next to him. they were panting, sweat cooling on their skin. She rolled into his arms, resting one on his chest. She felt his heartbeat gradually slow. He smiled at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling. She kissed him, tired and sated and so very happy.

"So that was phenomenal," she said dreamily.

"Because it was meant to happen."

"Since when do you believe in fate, Clint Barton?" She laughed gently and pressed smiling kisses on his chest.

"Since I found you."


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING:** This chapter includes rape situations.

He popped the chemical hand warmer and shook it. He smiled a little, thinking about benign single substances, explosive heat when they combined. His breath steamed in the air and he held the pouch between his hands. He hated the cold, but he knew Natasha would have loved it here. He had a gorgeous view of the moon from his vantage point. He can't feel his balls anymore from the cold and he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he hears Natasha laugh over the comm, and his troubles melted away. He couldn't believe 36 hours ago he laid in bed, tracing slivery scars on her skin while she laughed and reminisced about each one.

But then there was a phone call and they had to go. She left first. They never took the same plane to a mission, but they always took the same one home. He laid there, smelling her on the sheets still and smiling to himself. They both knew he was the sentimental one.

Now he watched her twirl on the arm of another man through his binoculars. He watched the man dip her low and kiss her neck. He couldn't wait to put an arrow through his skull when he heard the things he muttered into her skin. He hoped he wouldn't get blood on her dress. He'd like to take her out when this was all over. He wanted to be the one she was dancing with. His comm watch beeped twice. 'Atta girl, he thought. It was Natasha signaling to get ready; she was taking the man to his room, which Clint "Hawkeye" Barton, the world's best marksman, had a clear view of.

Still, he couldn't shake the sick feeling he'd felt earlier. It was something he'd felt before Sao Paulo and Dubai, two missions that had gone so south they might as well have been in hell. He still isn't sure how either of them survived. Maybe they were cats instead of hawks and spiders. After all, they always landed on their feet and their lives seemed endless. But he knew that illusion wouldn't last long. They'd die or they'd fake it and disappear off the map eventually. Clint was already pushing the envelope on the lifespan of an assassin. Natasha was younger, but she'd started a lot younger too. Her eyes looked ancient to him. She'd seen more than any one person ever should. But she wasn't really one person, she was several. And he knew that best of all.

He could see the glint of her bracelet as the man led her into his room. The Italian diplomat had been planning a coup d'etat and was a little too big a fan of everyone's least favorite historic mustachioed dictator for everyone's taste and he had to be taken care of before he gained anymore traction. He had an impressive penthouse that was filled to the brim with is rich and equally crazy, but less ambitious supporters. He was the one who really mattered, no use burning the hen house to get the fox. He could hear his filthy words to Natasha as he pushed her up against the wall and groped at her. There was a pillar in Clint's way or he would have fired right then. He'd been jealous over marks before, but the things this man was saying to _his_ Natasha were too much to handle.

She stalled him with requests for more drinks, and he generously poured her more champaign. She shimmied out of her gown, and Clint couldn't help it when his mouth dropped at the image. Between the satin corset making her hour glass figure look especially mouthwatering, and the way her garter straps stretched over her luscious thighs he was having a hard time not just repelling into the room and taking her for himself. She walked towards the bed, leading the man into the perfect position. He nocked his arrow and drew back. Perfect.

But things weren't perfect. There wasn't the beautifully destructive crescendo of glass breaking, there was a sickening "thunk" sound as the arrow stuck in the glass. And now he could see that it was thick. Very thick. Thicker than the intel had said. And he could hear the man laughing over Natasha's comm.

"You think I didn't know who you were? Oh Ms. Romanoff, you don't know much about my Russian friends, do you? They know all about you and your feathery friend."

"That's all very interesting, Marcola. But I have no idea what you're talking about."

He could see her stoic face, but he could see the telltale sheen of sweat on her face, something was going horribly wrong. Her legs buckled, and she tried to steady herself on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't they teach you not to take drinks from strangers in the Room?" He laughed wickedly, and Clint felt like he was going to throw up. He fired another arrow in the glass, and the same horrible absence of breaking glass was heard.

He stepped closer to Natasha, she threw an unsteady punch and he caught her arm, wrenching it behind her. She tried to elbow him with her remaining arm, and got him in the stomach, but not as hard as she should have because he grabbed her other wrist too. She struggled against him, trying to fight off both him and the drug was useless. Clint fired another arrow to no avail. Next time someone tells him that explosives are unnecessary on every mission, he's going to put a knife in their throat.

"I'm going to fuck you before I kill you. I'm going to have your pretty little head cut off and put in my trophy room."

Clint could see the handcuffs on her wrists as she was pushed too hard on the bed. Natasha was swearing in slurred and broken Russian. He fired another arrow at the window, it didn't breach this time, but a crack shuttered its way from one arrow to an adjacent arrow. Perfect.

The Italian seemed unconcerned. He's ripping off her expensive lace panties and calling her a whore when he sees the loving marks Clint left on her not even two days before. And Clint is hearing this all as he fires a line into the side of the building and securing it to the roof of his. Natasha is letting out painful choked gasps as he begins to violate her, and Clint's vision turns red as he repels towards the middle of that desperate crack in the glass.

His boots with steel heals hit the window first, he designed them to break the glass during repels. But this glass is thick, and he's going too fast and he knows it. He doesn't care when he feels his left ankle shatter, he only cares that the glass shattered too. He's grabbing the man off the bed, off of Natasha. He throws him on a pile of shards and cuts off the man's pathetic prick before he has time to scream Clint shoves it down his throat and watches as he chokes. It's embarrassing, and messy, and nowhere near dignified, and Clint only wishes he could make the man die over and over again.

Natasha is on the bed nearly paralyzed, half naked, with a tear leaking down her cheek. Clint kicks the corpses' head out of anger, hard enough to break his already wrung neck. He was too late and he could forgive himself for a lot, but not for this. He picks Natasha up and wraps her in a lush blanket. He's already signaled for an extraction, but he's furious they aren't here now. She's looking at him with panicked, broken eyes. And he's shaking.

"I'm sorry. Fuck, Nat. I should have said no, we should have said no. I shouldn't have let you come in here alone."

She didn't say anything. She couldn't say anything. She just weakly shook her head, it was almost imperceptible. She didn't blame him; she blamed the double agent in intel she now knew was there. She blamed herself for not telling Fury she couldn't do this gig. She just wanted to take a shower and go to sleep and forget everything that happened.

He rocked her gently. His tears made little dark spots on the red blanket. He could hear the helicopter coming, but it seemed hopelessly far away. He wondered if this is what she had felt as she lie exposed on the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Coulson was the only person who wasn't afraid of Clint Barton. Even Fury was, not that he'd admit it. But watching Barton flip over the heavy desk and throw coffee mugs and clocks and various office shit at the walls until it explodes into pieces, Coulson didn't really blame anyone.

"YOU FUCKING SNAKE!" A picture of Agent K from _Men In Black_ exploded next to Coulson's head. It was an inside joke. He merely blinked and watched his agent stomp among the wreckage of his spacious office. "Where did she go?"

"How am I supposed to know? Listen, she requested a leave of absence. How she did that without you knowing, I don't know. But the only thing I know is that Fury isn't tracking her, and you needed to eat."

Clint was seething with rage. Coulson knew he wouldn't actually hit him, because Coulson was pretty much the only person he trusted besides Natasha. But he'd never seen him this angry before. He hadn't slept in days. Just sat outside Natasha's recovery room. He wasn't allowed in. No one told him that she's the one who ordered that. He just watched her sleep and regain mobility. When the curtains were drawn he'd just pace in front of the observation window until they were opened. He'd question the nurses and doctors, but no one would tell him anything. After the fourth day, Coulson was told to get the man to eat and out of the doctors way or put him in a detention block. And in the half hour Coulson got him away, Natasha was discharged and took her LOA and disappeared. And here they were, knee deep in rubble as Clint's walking cast crunched on the glass and he punched the metal walls so hard it dented under his fist.

"Barton, the doctors said her psych eval didn't show any risk to her own life or other or they wouldn't have let her go."

"And you believe them? She's been trained to lie her way out of anything since she was SIX FUCKING YEARS OLD!" He screamed and Coulson was sure even the sound proofing in his office couldn't block this out. "Do you even know which Natasha you let out? Jesus, something like this could have triggered…You know she's been reset more times than a fucking VCR, right?"

"I'm aware."

"Except that those other people just kind of sit around in her head. She's seen some traumatic shit, but this… This is enough to make anyone revert back to something desperate. Did you let out Natalia? Did you let out the fucking sociopath junkie? What the FUCK were you assholes thinking?"

Coulson was pretty sure if Fury was here to see this, he'd be wondering how Barton was turning into the Hulk. He shoved that thought aside and pulled a tiny piece of paper out of his pocket, "this is why I'm not worried. I've spent enough time around you to know when Romanoff is on the fritz, okay. And she left this for you."

Clint snatched the paper out of his handler's fingers. And there in her tight, loopy writing was his address and a string of numbers.

"Phil, I could kiss you right now."

"Please don't."

"I'm making a leave of absence request."

"I put one in for you this morning. Approved," he said, pulling a packet of papers out of his jacket. He was to have no tracking, and six weeks before he had to check in. His injuries were cited as the cause, but with the medical tech and medicine S.H.I.E.L.D. had, he'd be better in a week, not six. "Don't get killed."

"Haven't yet," he rushed out the door. That was their little goodbye. They were friends, but neither of them would ever admit it. But he was going to send Coulson the best fucking Christmas card in the world this year.

He hoped to find her there, waiting. Drink in her hand as she sat in an old t-shirt of his at the table. He could look over her injuries himself, make sure she was the right Natasha, and then hold her and not let go for days. Make her understand how sorry he was that he let that happen to her. The taxi ride seemed to take forever. He was fidgeting with the scrap of paper in his hands, but he dare not let it go. It was the only piece of her he had right now.

He tried to bolt out of the cab but was suddenly made painfully aware of the broken ankle housed in the clunky cast. He didn't care. The elevator ride seemed so painfully slow that he was sure he was going to die. But he also knew 50 flights of stairs in a cast would have been worse and probably a lot longer. I'm coming, Nat, was all he could think. He just wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. He needed to know she was okay.

His keys fumbled in the door and he punched the entrance code on the keypad with such urgency he probably broke the damn thing. The locks unclicked and he burst through the door into blackness.

The city shined through his window, casting shadows on the open plane. There was an empty bed. There were fresh targets at the far end of the room. There were empty chairs around the table. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he punched the door frame and his knuckles split on the metal. He muttered a string of profanities that would even have made Natasha blush as he hobbled to the sink. There was a box on the table. He didn't remember leaving a box on the table. He forgot about his bleeding hand.

It was heavy and cold when he picked it up. There was a dial on the side. The numbers made sense now, but he knew she wouldn't just _give _him the code. He flipped through all the dates and numbers she could have used in his head, and then he reversed them. One stuck out. November 10th, 2004. 11/10/04. Between false numbers they were crammed in. The day she was supposed to die. The day he was supposed to kill her. The day he gave her a new life. He dialed in the numbers and the lock released. He was a little afraid to open it. He didn't know what he'd find. Inside there was another scrap of paper.

"You're killing me, Nat," he whispered as he pulled it out and examined it. More numbers, but these looked like map coordinance. He got his laptop from under his bed and looked them up. The computer whirred as they pinpointed to a tiny island off the Alaskan coast in the Bering Straight. He smiled to himself; she still craved the comfort of the cold Russian winters, large amounts of vodka, and the hearty food of working men. It was midnight, he decided he could sleep on the plane.

Once he was in Alaska it was a different story. He'd felt better after getting some sleep for the first time in a week. But he was still anxious, he just wanted to get to Natasha, and he wanted to get to her now. If she was even there.

"Listen, I showed you my pilot license, just give me a fucking pontoon plane. I'll pay double. "

"And how'my gonna get my plane back when you die out there, mister?"

"You'll get it back. Look, I'll buy the fucking plane."

The man's bushy eyebrows raised and he snickered, "You gonna give me $300,000 for a one way trip? Boy, you' gonna die out there."

Clint pulled stacks of cash out of his duffle bag, and made a point of revealing there was a lot more where that came from. As well as a myriad of weapons. He set the money on the battered counter and held out his hand for the key. "If I don't die you can have the plane back free of charge, okay. And don't call the coast guard." He flexed his hand impatiently. The man dropped it in the open hand, still a little too shocked to speak.

There was a single dock on the tiny island, and there was another pontoon plane already there. The thick coniferous trees covering the island didn't give him any idea of the layout, but he could see the storm rolling in the previously clear sky, so he was running out of options.

Getting out of a tiny plane with limited mobility wasn't a pretty sight, he fell flat on the dock. He was glad there wasn't anyone around to see him. Beyond the dock there was no path, there was nothing he could see, but the forest had to provide some sort of shelter from the cold wind coming off the sea. He picked up a walking stick, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder and marched into the dark woods.

He had to find Natasha.

The rain started to beat down. It was cold, he was wet, and his walking cast was starting to chafe on his leg. But he wasn't going to stop until he found her.

"NAT!"

The storm drowned out his call, but he just kept walking and calling. He walked for an hour through the thick forest. It was a small island, but it was slow going. He estimated he was only about half way across. Something hit him in the head. Not hard, but it stung like hell. He turned to see Natasha. In her heavy rain boots and her oversized insulated coat holding a couple pine cones, she looked almost childlike. But he didn't doubt that she could probably kill him a hundred different ways with those pinecones.

A weak smile twitched across her lips. She looked as tired as he felt and as broken as his ankle. Both of them waited for the other to move. He wasn't sure what state she was in, so he didn't want to fuck up and wind up dead or with more broken limbs. After a moment she took a step towards him. It was full of hesitation and doubt. Something he'd never seen in her before.

"Clint."

He reached for her, and she flinched. The happiness he felt when he first saw her shattered.

"Shit, Nat…" his words hung in the air with his breath. She didn't look away from his face. She was searching for something. They must have been a sight to see; standing in the rainy woods, shivering and soaked to the bone, just watching each other, broken and raw.

"Follow me," was all she said.

They walked for a little while before they came upon a log cabin. Clint almost laughed, almost. There was a porch with a rocking swing, and a path of flagstones leading to it. She unlocked the door, and a keypad similar to the one at Clint's apartment popped out of the wall and she punched the code in. This wasn't an ordinary cabin. Though nothing about Natasha was ordinary.

The inside was homey. There was a once elegant couch against the wall next to a hand carved book case. There was a table and a couple chairs, though only one of them had ever seen use. The kitchen was small, but all the appliances were modern. The walls were paneled wood, no doubt covering some serious reinforcement and gadgetry. There was a Monet hanging above the table, and Clint didn't doubt its authenticity. The floors were worn wood and he could see two bedrooms off to the side, and what he assumed was a bathroom and the cellar.

"Your room is there," she pointed to the first bedroom. He was more than a little crushed that it wasn't her room too, but he knew better to push her now. "There are clothes in there for you, you need to get out of your wet clothes, I'll throw them in the dryer."

His bed was pushed under a large window, and he could see he was wrong about where on the island they were, because out of it, he could see a small, trim back yard and then the jagged edge of a cliff and the toiling sea below. It was a beautiful view, and he could see from the marks on the floor, that the bed had been moved there recently. She'd done it for him. There was a pair of thick jeans, a thermal shirt and a wool sweater and thick socks waiting for him, neatly folded on the bed. All in his size. He opened the wooden dresser and saw it was filled with things in his size. He changed, carefully pulling the jeans over his healing leg before putting the cast back on. It was still damp, but he'd survive.

He walked out to see her sitting at her table, legs crossed beneath her so she was entirely on the chair. Her hair hung loosely around her face, curling as it dried. Her hands held a mug of tea like it was a lifeline. She stared off into the distance, not acknowledging his presence.

"Thanks for the clothes. Uh, what should I do with these?"

"The washer and dryer are in the bathroom."

When he returned to the main room he sat in the other chair. There was a cup of coffee the way he liked it waiting there. He watched her for a few minutes. She'd silently sip her tea, just staring into the distance.

"So..This must be where you disappear to after bad missions."

She nodded gently and took a sip of her tea.

"I like it. But what's with all the doubles and clothes in my size if it's just for you?"

"I always meant to invite you here, just never found the right time."

"Following bread crumbs isn't really an invite, Nat."

"You didn't have to come."

"I did. I needed to make sure you were all right. They wouldn't let me see you and then you disappeared."

"I needed some time to think."

"What did you figure out?"

"I need some time."

He held back a frustrated sigh and just watched her sip her tea as he sipped his coffee. She looked so powerless, like when he'd first brought her back to S.H.I.E.L.D. after hitting her hard enough to make her forget who she was. It came back slowly, but it wasn't easy to watch her struggle with herself in the beginning.

"Tash, I'm sor—"

"Don't be. We finished the mission and he's dead."

"He deserved worse."

"Agreed."

He didn't know what to say, he just wanted to hold her until things were right again. But this wasn't that kind of story. It never was for them. He was going to fight tooth and nail with his guilt, and she was going slip and slide in the wreckage of her mind trying to piece things back together. Or they'd die trying.

She finished her tea and got up with almost inhuman grace.

"Goodnight, Clint."

She walked into her room and locked the door behind her. The click of the lock broke what was left of Clint Barton's heart.

* * *

**_Author's_ Note:** _how do I write happy things I don't even know. Breaking my own heart like a champ. If you're wondering about the timeline, this takes place before the events in the Avengers movie, but those will eventually come into play... I think. I guess we'll have to see. anyways, thanks for reading! subscriptions and reviews make me light up like Stark's arc reactor. _


	4. Chapter 4

The rain drops pattered against the window like millions of tiny heart beats. It soothed him, but he still couldn't sleep. His mind felt more akin to the roiling black sea below the cliff the cabin was perched on. He watched the sea, and the lightening dancing in the clouds. Here at the edge of the world the deadliest humans had been stripped away of all their armor and left raw like a fresh burn.

He still didn't know what to think. She seemed like the Natasha he knew, but he couldn't get the image of her standing in the freezing rain, broken eyes, shivering in oversized gear out of his head. And the fact she'd locked her bedroom door. In all the times they'd shared living spaces and sleeping quarters, she'd never locked her door to him. But everything had changed in a million different ways now. Less than 48 hours after they'd caved in to years and years of pushing back desires and ignoring feelings and made love came the mission that had been harder on either of them than anything they'd ever done. Worse than Sao Paulo or Dubai. Worse than anything Natasha had done for the Russians. She was raped, and Clint couldn't stop it. He couldn't save her. He could only watch. True, he'd killed the man, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to burn the building down. Make sure the mole in the intel team got what they deserved. But mostly he wanted to help Natasha heal. He wasn't sure how to do that. He could give her sutures, he could reset her limbs, knock her noggin hard enough to bring her back to his Natasha, he could deal with her moodiness after bad missions, when the hydra like demons of her past reared their heads, but he did not know the first thing to do now. His instincts were telling him to wait, and she'd tell him what she needed. And he was used to waiting, it came with the job. But this had to be the hardest, most frustrating helpless thing he'd ever experienced.

There wasn't a clock in the room, something he sensed was probably on purpose, but sometime in the dark of the night he heard Natasha screaming in nightmare. He rushed out of bed and into the living area. He knew her door was locked, and he didn't want to unnerve her, so he just stood still in the small gap between their doors, listening and waiting. He knew she was awake when he heard a frustrated yell he'd heard before and a subsequent smashing of an object on the wall. He waited, and waited. Eventually he sat down, leaning against the wall. Still waiting and trying to figure out some way to make it better. Eventually he couldn't fight off the hunger for sleep anymore and drifted off.

Clint was a light sleeper by nature. All the time in the marines and secret ops had tuned him to wake up at the slightest sound or movement, so when he awoke to Natasha making breakfast, hair wet from the shower, cheeks still pink from her morning workout, and coffee already on the table he was pretty damn surprised to say the least. There was even a blanket over him.

"You like peaches and cream oatmeal, right?" She said without even looking away from her work.

"Uh, I—yeah. Yeah, it's my favorite." He pulled himself off the floor, he was stiff all over and his ankle fucking hurt. He limped to the table and saw his daily dose of healing meds from S.H.I.E.L.D. next to his coffee. He swallowed them with a sip of his coffee and Natasha set a steaming bowl in front of him and sat down with hers before he even realized she was behind him. "You're like a fucking ninja, Tasha. Jesus."

"You know as well as I that I'm better than a ninja. Or do I have to remind you who saved your ass during that mission in Tibet?" she said flatly before blowing off her steaming spoon.

He smiled a bit, that was the Natasha he knew. They ate in silence for a while. He didn't know where she'd gotten fresh peaches in Alaska at this time of year, but he did know this was probably the most delicious breakfast he'd ever eaten. And he was thankful to see her eating. He'd seen many food trays come out of her recovery room untouched. When they'd finished, she grabbed the bowl and walked to the sink and began washing. There as a dishwasher, but she'd probably never used it. She said she liked doing dishes, it was something so normal compared to everything else she does. He thought it was endearing, but he'd always teased her for it.

"I should be taking care of you, not the opposite," he said, walking up behind her. She tensed when she sensed him behind her, he could see the way she gripped the spoon and sponge like weapons. He used both hands to grab a towel so she could see he had nothing, and her shoulders relaxed a little. He dryed and put away what she washed.

"I don't need to be taken care of," She said. She passed him a dripping plate and she opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again.

"No, you don't. But I want to take care of you," he said gently, even he had to admit that was really fucking cheesy. He saw her smile, it was weak and tired, but it was the first he'd seen from her in a week.

"Clint Barton: Ripped straight from a chick flick and delivered to me in the Arctic Circle," she tapped his cast lightly with her foot, "You're even gift wrapped."

"Well, I couldn't show up to my lady's secret fortress without some trophy of my travels, right?"

They finished dishes and he excused himself to shower. He turned the hot water up high and stood under the steaming spray. His ankle was already feeling better, S.H.I.E.L.D. really did have the best medical tech around. He laughed a little when he finally looked for the soap and realized there was a shower shelf with his favorite body wash and shampoo on it. But he reached for Natasha's wash instead, popping open the cap and inhaling the scent he'd grown so familiar with. It smelled like roses and spring water. He remembered the first time they'd ended up smashed together in a tight space hiding from the enemy. Leather and Kevlar clad bodies pressed together, his head tucked into the crook of her neck to shield his face, he had started laughing, a low chuckle deep from within.

"What's so fucking funny," she'd hissed.

"We're covered in blood, we're probably going to get shot in the next five minutes, and the mission is probably botched, but all I can think about is how good you smell."

She groaned and he could practically hear her roll her eyes, "well if we survive, I'll buy you a fucking bottle of my body wash for yourself."

After all these years, she still used the same soap. He smiled, he was probably the only person that knew what a creature of habit the Black Widow was. Her rigorous lifestyle had trained her for orderly schedule, but she didn't do it for order, she did it for comfort. Always had a cup of tea before bed, the same brand, three sugars and a splash of milk. Always listened to Phillip Glass when she was sad. Always brushed her teeth before she did anything else in the morning. Even on missions she carried disposable single use tooth brushes. Just like her dishwashing thing, she liked to have some semblance of normal. Clint had always just done whatever felt right, but when they had spent long periods of time together he also found comfort in her habits and routine. They fit together like matching gears and moved like a well-oiled machine, both on and off the field.

When he finally dragged himself out of the shower and into fresh clothes he came out to find Natasha on the couch, knees pulled up to her chin, just staring off into the distance. He sat down next to her, and began to gently rub her back. She twitched and tensed up at first, but relaxed quickly. He didn't know how long it was before she said something, but if he hadn't been paying attention he probably would have missed it, it was so quite.

"I let my guard down."

He didn't say anything, he just waited for her to elaborate. He rubbed her back gently with the flat of his hand, patterning circles that soothed them both.

"When you… when you said those _things_ about... I said to myself, 'I don't have to hide it anymore. I can finally say them too. I won't have to wait till we're both," she started shaking and let out a shuddering breath, "till we're both bleeding out in some hopeless shithole on the other side of the world to say them.' And then everything just _happened._ And we got the call from Fury and during the briefing on the plane, all I could think was," she let out sort of a choked half sob, half hiccup, he could see her eyes brimming with tears. If her tears fell, he knew damn well his would too. "I thought, 'This is going to be so simple. Lure and shoot mission, back to laughing in your bed in 72 hours.' And I just…" Hot tears fell from her eyes. Clint wanted so badly to wipe them away, but he held back, leaving his hand where it rested on her back like a support beam. He felt the sting of tears hit his own cheeks and snake their way down through the forest of stubble. "For the first time in my life, I was completely powerless. Even all the times I've been fucking brainwashed I had more control over myself then when I took that drink in my hand. It was the only one I'd actually drank that night, everything else I managed to pass off without him noticing. I thought 'victory drink!' and" she took another shuddering breath, "next thing I know, that fucking pig is on top of me, and I can see your arrows stuck in the glass, and I can't move. I had no control," for the first time she looks at him, "I don't know how to get over that feeling of no control. At least here I know every inch. I can lock everything. Nothing can sneak up on me, not even you. But I still feel like any minute it'll disappear and I feel like I can't breathe." Her eyes were red rimmed and pleading.

"I distracted you. I made a bad move and it's my fau—"

"Don't twist my fucking words, Clint." Her eyes narrowed at him in anger briefly before she looked away. "I'm just saying that…Fuck, I don't know what I'm saying, but it's not your fault and martyrdom doesn't suit you so if you keep blaming yourself for this I'll rebreak your ankle, asshole."

He couldn't help but let out a little laugh, even she couldn't hide her slight smile. He still felt like shit, but the fact she wasn't going to let him take the blame for it made him realize she was okay.

"Okay, okay, I'll patch my bleeding heart for you, Nat," he said almost sarcastically.

"Thanks for giving him an undignified death, by the way."

"Had you not been hurt, I would have made him suffer more."

"I appreciate the sentiment," she leaned into him for the first time; he wrapped his arm around her shoulder as she laid her head on his. He kissed her hair gently. "I banned you from my recovery room," she admitted quietly.

"Why?"

"Because I needed to have some control over what was happening to me. Because things between us suddenly just exploded and I needed…I need to be in control right now," she looked at him, "are you mad?"

"No, because you trusted me enough to let me come here, into your private little Natasha hidey-hole."

"If you ever tell anyone I said this, I will kill you myself, but frankly I don't know what I'd do without you right now."

"I'm not going anywhere," he kissed her forehead again, and then added "unless you want me too."

She smiled weakly and settled back into his shoulder, "so you're not going to be mad when I say that I want to, uh, shit" her brows furrowed, she rarely had trouble finding the right words, but he just waited. "I want to take things slower..between us I mean. I need to get my shit in order before I can… before we can… just, I need some time."

He pulled away, and he saw a brief flash of panic in her eyes, but he turned her face towards him and looked her dead in the eyes, "You are in charge of the pace we go at. I won't make a move without your permission. I've waited eight years, I can wait a little longer, Natasha."

"I swear to fucking god we've turned into a chick flick," she let out a small laugh and smiled sadly, "but thank you." She abruptly stood up off the couch, "Jesus all this emotional stuff is exhausting, I need a nap."

Yeah, she was going to be alright, he thought to himself.

She stopped in her doorway but didn't turn back to him, quietly she said, "I'm trusting you with everything, Clint." She gently shut the door behind her.

He waited to hear the lock click.

It didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first week Natasha stayed rather distant and quiet, not that she was ever really talkative or affectionate before. This had a different air about it, nervous and tense. Every day it would seem to be a little easier for her to relax, but Clint still gave her space. He'd go out and sit on the edge of the cliff and watch the water churn and whittle away at pieces of driftwood collected from the front of the island. Or he'd go work out in the basement, or clean Natasha's weapons. She spent a lot of time meditating in front of the huge window in her bedroom. Hardly a word was spoken that first week, but it was comfortable silence, a healing silence they both left at rest and didn't try to scratch. He still heard her wake up screaming most nights and some mornings, but he stayed in his room.

After the tenth day Clint could take his walking cast off because of the S.H.I.E.L.D. advanced healing medicine. Natasha massaged the stiff joints of his ankle and foot and dragged him down to the basement to work on regaining strength in his leg instead of his already muscular arms. It was a big step for her. She'd hesitated at first with the personal contact, after taking off his cast she looked at his bare leg like it was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

"Tash, I can take my own damn cast off," he'd prostested.

She replied curtly with, "Shut the fuck up, Clint." Before taking a deep breath and working the ankle in soothing ways. By the time she was pulling him by his sleeve down the stairs, he could tell she was happy with herself. Her smile looked like that of a child showing a parent an all A report card, and he felt pretty proud of her if he was being honest.

That night she'd woken up screaming again, and this time he didn't stay in his room. He knocked gently on her door, when she opened it he took in the perfectly ridiculous but beautiful sight of her bed head wildly curling this way and that around her tired face.

"Need some company?"

She just nodded and let him in. He sat on the bed and rubbed her back as she sat next to him and stared into the dark. Neither of them slept that night, they just sat in silence. She was unable to decide what to do next, and he was unable to leave her side for even a moment. At dawn she announced she was going for a run around the island. He didn't point out to her that it was sleeting and well below freezing. He just had a hot shower ready when she returned, and some toast and tea on the table when she got out of the shower.

That night when he knocked on her door after the clockwork scream, she pulled back the covers for him and he crawled into the warm bed beside her. She reached out for his hand in the dark, and he gently rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand until she fell back to sleep.

Every night she would go to her room, and he to his, but when she awoke in terror he'd slip into her bed and hold her hand. One night when a storm raged outside and she'd woken up especially terrified, she snuggled up against him and asked him to hold her. So he did. They'd slept curled together before on missions where space wasn't abundant, his arm around her, or his hand resting on her hip absently running his thumb on her skin to soothe. She'd trusted him then to not do anything stupid, and she trusted him again. Sometimes he'd press a gentle kiss on the back of her neck, or on her shoulder blade, and she'd smile into the darkness at the warmth and tenderness of it. Neither of them mentioned it though.

He relished any contact between them. There were moments when she was so effortless in her sexiness he thought he'd just die right there. He'd file away mental snap shots of these moments for later in the shower or when he excused himself for the night. The way she looked stretched out on the couch, focused on a book, absent mindedly eating berries. The way her hips seemed to have extra swing when she wore a long skirt. The way she looked after she got out of the shower, cheeks pink, hair mussed up, absent of makeup. The shape her lips made when she blew a stream of cool air at a steaming fork. He'd always appreciated her grace on the battle field and he'd seen all these things before, but he thought it was inhuman the way she just seemed to be so beautiful all the time.

By the middle of the fourth week, he'd whittled a chess set. He tied a bow out of string on it and waited for her to come up stairs after her workout. She made fun of his dinky bow and then proceeded to kick his ass when they played a game. Their meal times had become full of lively conversation and laughter. The night of the chess match she hummed while they did the dishes. He set down his rag and held out his hand to her, she looked at him skeptically.

"Come on, Nat, let's dance!"

She laughed, "to what?"

An idea popped in his head and he rushed to the ipod dock and put on some old jazzy dance music.

"Now, Ms. Romanoff, shall we?" he winked at her.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but her smile betrayed her true feelings as she took his hand. They'd both been trained to dance for under cover missions, but this wasn't a ballroom, or a club. It was the living room of a cabin at the edge of Alaska. At first they danced like a couple of teenagers at their first school dance, his hands on her waist, and her arms around his neck, but bodies definitely apart, just kind of swaying to the music. A more upbeat song came on, and they both got into it. He twirled and dipped her. Their feet seemed to move in perfect step, she was laughing and he was smiling.

"It's a good thing we both know how to dance!" he said as he spun her around.

"It would be so embarrassing if the king and queen saw us mess up," she said gesturing dramatically to the chess board on the coffee table and dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"Those bishops are sure gossips, we'd never hear the end of it," he chuckled.

They laughed until their stomachs hurt and their cheeks were sore from smiling. Dancing song after song. A slower song came on, and he pulled her close and they smiled at each other.

"We didn't finish the dishes," she said after a few steps.

He didn't say anything, just gave her a look that said. "Really, Natasha? Now?"

She laughed an apology and they danced in silence for a minute, letting their bodies glide around the room pressed together.

"You're so beautiful, Nat." he said without hesitation. A blush crept into her cheeks and she looked away. He laughed a little, "I've never in my life seen you bashful."

"And if you tell anyone, I'll hurt you." she smiled as she said it, but he doubted she was lying. "But," she continued after a moment, "Thank you. You're looking pretty handsome yourself, I guess" she added sarcastically. He just smiled at her and she smiled back, there was a glint of something in her eye and before he could identify it her lips were pressed against his. Just as warm and soft as the way he remembered. He kissed back and he felt her tongue flick out to meet his lips, and he let her deepen the kiss. His hands anchored on her waist, and her arms curled around his neck holding them together. It was a long, lingering kiss and he savored every moment of it.

When she pulled away she reached down and grabbed his hand led him to the bedroom. She pulled him in front of her and pushed him back on the bed with a smile. She straddled his lap and kissed him deeply. His hands pulled her against him and hers combed through his short hair. She rocked her hips against him, and he moaned quietly into her kiss. She smiled into his mouth.

"You like that?"

"Do you even have to fucking ask?" he bit her lip gently and she pushed her hips into his lap, "Oh Jesus Christ, Natasha." He kissed her hard. She laughed a low, sultry laugh. He fought the urge to flip her over and kiss down her body; he didn't want to take the control out of her hands yet. Her hands pulled at his shirt and he ripped it off without hesitation. She began to kiss down his chest, fingers trailing in the wake of her lips. His hand threaded into her thick hair. She felt so good, and he just wanted her so badly he thought he was going to explode. Suddenly the warmth of her lips was gone and she was rolling off him, her brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"I—no. Yes. I want to—but I do—can't," she sputtered uncouthfully.

He sighed, he was more than a little sexually frustrated and definitely turned on, but Clint Barton was a gentleman. "It's alright, Tash."

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," He sat up and kissed her forehead, "but if you'll excuse me, I definitely need a cold shower."

"I can tell," she winked, but there was still hesitation in her eyes. He gave her a wry smile and left to take care of himself.

It didn't take him long once he stepped into the hot water, hand pumping firmly, images fresh in his mind of the Goddess in the other room, to come to completion, holding back a moan and instead breathing out her name.

He didn't invite himself into her room that night; he knocked gently when he heard her awaken. A ritual they had begun bypassing weeks ago. She opened the door to him, and they slept curled together. He didn't hold her hesitation against her, he was surprised she'd even let it go that far. He fell asleep, lost in the familiar scent and warmth of her.

He had that eerie feeling he was being watched, when his eyes opened he saw Natasha sitting on the bed, just staring. He reminded her of a cat, the way she sat so perfectly still, almost statuesque. But still, it was unnerving.

"Uh, hey, Tash. What's up?"

"I want to try something."

"Alright?" his mind was still hazed with sleep, he was in civilian mode, not mission mode.

She crawled over and placed a hand on his chest and kissed him deeply. He could get behind whatever plan this involved. He brushed her hair behind her ear and she kissed down his jaw and gently nipped at the crook of his jaw under his ear. He let out a little growl and she giggled. She straddled him once again, her night dress pulled up over her thighs exposing miles and miles of deliciously smooth, strong leg.

"This is a gooood morning," he said, running his hands over her legs and letting them hold her hips. She kissed across his bare shoulders and up his neck.

"Do you trust me?" her breath was hot on his ear.

He was a little taken back by the question, "Of course!"

"Okay, good."

Her hands took his and she raised them above his head. Before he had time to comprehend, he felt the silky firmness of nylon cord being wrapped around his wrists, tying them to the bed post. He took the moment to enjoy the closeness of her. He placed a gentle kiss on her breast, reasoning that if they were in his face, he might as well take advantage of it.

"The Black Widow is tying me up. I can't decide if I am incredibly turned on, or extremely scared of what happens next."

She smiled; it was a smile that can only be described as naughty. Her hips slid down a little, the way her ass slid over his stiff cock made him moan. "It seems like the first option." She kissed down his body, her hand slipped inside the waistband of his sweatpants, so tantalizingly, teasingly close. Instead her hand careened to his hip and she let her nails drag across them as she pulled his pants down. She slid them off one leg at a time. Clint felt like hating her for teasing for a brief second, but he knew she needed this. She had complete control over him. She sat back on her heels between his legs, looking him up and down like a hungry lion does an antelope. She pulled her nightgown over her head, revealing the body he craved to touch and taste. The one he'd become so fond of holding. He could see all her scars in the clear morning light. Some delicate and thin, some deep and layered over old scars. The supple curves of her body looked more beautiful to him than any picture, sculpture, ad, or model he'd ever seen.

She took in all of his skin, the marks and scars of his battle hardened body. She liked the treasure trail of hair beneath his navel. The hard lines of his body melting into the delicious V of his hips. Those steely eyes giving the same look she knew he was giving her.

Suddenly she was pouncing on him, kissing him roughly as her hand reached between him and stroked him firmly. He struggled a bit against his bonds, but he knew he could never undo her knots. She shifted and her hand guided him into her wetness. Her head fell back and she bit her lip.

"Oh fuck, Tasha," he breathed out raggedly as she began to move her hips in delicious figure eights. He wanted desperately to reach out and hold her. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him as she began to move up and down. He braced his legs and pushed back into her. She leaned back and he took in the sight of her body moving rhythmically against his. "You're fucking perfect, you know that?"

"Hardly," but she winked at him. She reached for something in the drawer next to him. "Do you trust me?" He saw she was holding a very sharp looking knife in her hands.

"Of course."

She kissed him hard and he picked up the pace as much as he could from this position, it was steady but nowhere near what he wanted, "I need you." he suddenly felt the ropes go slack and his arms fell behind his head and the knife clattered to the ground.

He looked in her eyes, "Do you trust me?"

She gave a small nod; there was no doubt in her eyes, "Yes."

With that his hands took her waist and he rolled them over. Her legs instinctively went over his shoulders so he could thrust harder and deep and hit the right spot. Her hands gripped the sheets and she was breathing was coming in pants. They were hurtling towards climaxing.

"Fuck, Clint. Oh, fuck!"

Her moans were driving him over the edge. He flipped her onto her hand and knees and he edge himself off the bed so he was standing on the floor. He pulled her body upright against his, one hand gripping her hip tightly, the other snaking up to twist and tweak a hard nipple. He kissed and nipped at her neck. Her hand held his head in place and the other was holding his hand to her hip.

"So close, Natasha," he whispered in her ear. "You're so fucking incredible,"

"Don't stop," she gasped. He thrust into her harder a couple more times before her body shook with a powerful orgasm, "Oh god, Clint!"

Somewhere between those perfect lips moaning his name while her body squeezed deliciously around him and her body turned to gelatin in his hands, he found himself moaning "Natasha," into her ear and coming inside her. They rode out their orgasms and fell into the bed. Bodies shaking gently with aftershocks. He looked at her, cheeks flush, still breathing heavily, smiling. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Good morning, Clint."

She kissed him gently, but it was heavy with emotion. Trust, need, desire, acceptance, happiness.

"What should we do today, darling?"

"I was thinking we'd spend the day in bed," she smiled and her finger traced over a scar on his chest languidly.

"Perfect."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's** **Note:**_ This is an interlude chapter. I wasn't feeling up to writing a full fleshed out chapter tonight, so I wrote sort of a little peek into the lives and minds of Clint and Natasha. Though, there is a preview of the next chapter at the end, which I hope you will be excited for. Thank you for all the lovely reviews and responses! Enjoy. ;)

* * *

Clint Barton is a simple man, he really only has two sides and they tend to bleed into each other. His nonchalant attitude and humor were born of his childhood in the Circus. It sounds like a bad joke now, that the best marksman on the planet started off doing a trick show in a failing circus filled with gypsies and ex-cons, but he won't tolerate being talked down to because of it. When he joined the marines he excelled, he always has. That's the thing about Clint Barton, he's really good at almost everything he tries, but things rarely catch his interest. When he turned nineteen things really started to change in his life. It wasn't Barton that learned a lesson in the Marines; it was the Marines that learned you can't control a man who's better than the people commanding him. Somewhere around the time he punched his platoon sergeant's face in for disrespecting him, he was discharged for disorderly conduct. The thing about criminals is that they respect people with talent, and though Clint didn't respect them he got to shoot, get paid, and play cards. And that's all he cared about. He still has simple tastes; Shooting, feeling good, and Natasha. He's focused on missions, completely. But that doesn't mean he can't have some fun. Half of his quips and remarks go over people's heads and his pranks on the S.H.I.E.L.D. bases and helicarrier are infamous, that's why when he met Tony Stark the two got along so well; mutual appreciate for shenanigans. He'd never jeopardize a mission for fun though; he's got more respect for his work than that. Better to be bored then to get people killed.

When he met Natasha; bleeding out, broken, brainwashed Natasha who still tried to fight him, he knew he was a goner. He'd never admit that the first time they were assigned to a mission together he had butterflies in his stomach over being so close to such a beautiful, but deadly creature. When they stopped just being assigned to each other and started being partners he realized how truly incredible she was. He learned Russian from her and taught her advanced English. They sparred in their free time. Even began actively seeking each other's companionship during down time. He knew things changed when she started confiding in him, her secrets and nightmares. He told her his too, but he liked sharing his dreams more. Clint Barton was dreamer and an optimist at heart. Not that anyone besides Natasha and Phil Coulson knew it. He does whatever feels right, and being with Natasha felt right. Except that he couldn't. He didn't even want to try in fear of fucking up. So he escaped into booze, women, and back alley casinos. It was a slippery slope, and after three years of sliding downhill the pivotal moment where Clint had his jaw broken as payment and he still owed over four hundred thousand dollars and there was a gun pointed in his face, he realized he needed some help. And there was Natasha, a duffle bag full of money, standing over the bleeding bodies of the men that beat up Clint, picking him up and bringing him home. He knew they were even now. He also knew he'd be lost without her.

If Clint Barton was a coin, Natasha was a die. She had many, many sides. Though that happens when you've been reprogrammed more than a refurbished cellphone. She's been Natalia Romanov, Natasha Romanoff, Natalie Roman, and more aliases than even Nick Fury can count. Her parents were killed when she was six, and she was a ward of the government, a government who couldn't put someone with apparent athletic ability and potentially stunning looks to waste. So they sent her to the Red Room. Where she was trained to kill, to lie, to steal, to be everything but human. And that's what she was. Except there's a streak of anarchy in Natasha. One that the Russians tried to squash out with a drug dependence. That didn't work out to well, for anyone. Just made her reckless, but at least it kept her coming back. When Clint Barton found her, that streak couldn't let her just stand there and take an arrow, even though she was clearly beaten. She'd resented that she owed him for years, and the way he'd become so reckless. She thought she'd rubbed some of that red in her ledger off on him. But when she saved him, and they were even, when she could have gone her separate way, she knew she had to stay. Something about him calmed her fears, quelled her anger, and even made her happy. She'd never admit she liked his jokes or enjoyed the fallout of his pranks, but she loved it. She loved the way she felt safe around him, like she didn't have to sleep with one eye open and keep her back to the wall.

On missions, in front of everyone else, in public when not on a mission, she was the stone cold, emotionless bitch she'd earned her reputation as. She was as direct and dangerous as a lightning bolt. But when she began to trust Clint, in the private spaces of their rooms or apartments her façade began to chip away. She was a serene being, who enjoyed her creature comforts and a good laugh. She had a silly streak as big as her rebellious streak, and it meshed well with Clint's general tomfoolery. She was the mastermind behind his best pranks. She was quiet and thoughtful, but if she was excited she talked till she was hoarse. But only around Clint. Clint Barton, though a part of her vicious, dangerous, and often horrible reality and life, was like a vacation wrapped in a ruggedly handsome package. She knew she'd be lost without him.

Together they were unstoppable. There were no questions though, that their partner's life meant more to them than their own. But neither knew how much losing the other would destroy the remaining person. When the dam of finally broke and they bore their feelings in the cool darkness of Clint's apartment, they knew that it had been slated to happen since the day they met. If there was one thing Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff knew for certain, it was that they loved each other. They didn't have to say it, they knew it was mutual.

One day, towards the end of the Alaskan leave. Natasha, who was not the sentimental one of the pair, told Clint of the Chinese adage of the "red string of fate." That when we are born, there is an invisible red string tied from our soul to the soul of our soul mate. It may twist and knot, but it will never break. If she'd believed in soul mates, she said, her string would be tied to him. When she woke up the next morning with a red thread tied to her toe, and followed it out to Clint, whom it was tied to, making her breakfast, she knew he felt the same. She silently thanks the gods she never believed in until they came to earth for Clint every day. And he does the same for her.

* * *

"Nice to see you came back from where-ever-the-fuck in one piece. Suit up, you're going to Budapest."


	7. Chapter 7

"I leave you alone for six hours and you come up with this? Seriously, Clint." She spoke in low, terse Russian on the cargo plane. It was a rare trip when they were sharing a plane together. The pilot and copilot were well out of hearing range, not that they spoke Russian anyways. Natasha had checked their dossiers.

"Well we are going to spend the rest of our lives together," he replied. He loved when they spoke in Russian, mostly because he liked the way Natasha's mouth moved and expelled the words in her low, husky voice. It was irresistible to him.

"That may be true, but it puts both of us, and our partnership at risk. How do you think Fury would react? Or Coulson? How much would our enemies love to take one of us hostage when they realized we're married?" She was mad, but he didn't care.

"Coulson speaks Russian," the archer noted. Coulson nodded at the pair from his seat where he was reading a magazine. He'd been brought along in case of diplomatic negotiations. It was hard to negotiate with assassins.

Natasha's face paled before turning a shade of red Clint knew she had in a tube of lipstick at home, "are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck else knows about this?"

"No one."

She tore a gun out of its holster and held it, cocked, against Clint's forehead. Clint seemed unphased, and Coulson's eyebrows rose in amusement. She repeated, "Who else fucking knows?"

"No one. I swear it, Nat."

She considered something for a moment, then uncocked the gun slid it back into its holster. "Why do you want to do it?"

"Because between you, me, and Coulson here, you're all I have. And even if I can't tell or show everyone, it would mean a lot to me if I could declare it to the world, even if I'm only whispering it to an empty room."

"How in the world did you end up so alarmingly romantic? Coulson, is this some sort of genetic defect or experiment gone wrong?" she asked the suit, not taking her eyes off Clint.

"I wish it was, Agent Romanoff. He's been that way since I met him."

"Are you going to tell anyone?"

"What happens in Budapest stays in Budapest," he said airily as he flipped the pages of his magazine.

She still didn't say anything, just staring Clint straight in the eyes with a grimly serious look on her face. He'd been trained for all sorts of interrogations, but something about her was just damn unnerving sometimes.

"No paper trail," she said finally. It was as close to a "yes" as he'd ever get, and he knew it.

"No paper trail." He affirmed.

"Approaching drop zone in three minutes," the pilot called back in Hungarian. Clint thanked the pilot and he and Natasha attached their parachutes and checked over each other's straps and buckles and weapons.

"Alright, kids. Time to go stop a civil war. Remember, green guys are bad, we're on the red and blue team. Don't get blown up by any of their pretty little stolen soviet rockets. Call me if they surrender, I'll see you at the hotel." He patted Clint on the shoulder as the door opened for them to jump. "Gives a new meaning to 'taking the plunge,' eh?" Natasha gave him a look that should have turned him to ice, but he smiled and waved as they dove from the air craft.

On the descent they could see the city was more torn up than the satellite images they'd seen earlier, not a promising start. They hit the ground running, guns and bow's pulled, shooting anything with a green insignia on their chest.

Natasha started ordering the rebel forces they were fighting for to get back to the funnel created by the narrow city streets and wait with their best marksmen and all the ammo they could find. They laughed at the woman trying to lead them; she shot a group of six men charging at them without even looking. They left to follow her command without another word.

Meanwhile Clint had scrambled up a light post, "What do your elf eyes see, Legolas?" Natasha smirked from the ground. He had half a mind to shoot her in the foot.

"More troops, a few tanks."

"how many more troops?"

"I'd guess 500 in front of the tanks, more behind."

"We don't have that much ammo. Hit the tanks, yeah?"

"Already on it," he said as he dialed up his favorite specialized arrow heads. He took a deep breath to steady himself, whispering, "boom!" on the exhale as he shot at the several tanks.

Most people would have thought the shot impossible, he just smiled as he watched the tanks blow off their tracks and falter to a stop. The neat lines of ill equipped and poorly trained soldiers suddenly scattered like teenagers at a party when the cops show up. He looked down to see Natasha, carrying a small child followed by a woman in tatters and holding a bundle, they were running towards a shop, he could see she was telling them to get down and stay down. She shoved money in their hands and shooed them.

"GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE, NOW!"

He looked back to see a mortar sailing towards him, he agreed it was a good time to get down. It whistled overhead and the impact shook in from the pole to the ground in a rough landing.

Suddenly she was grabbing his arm and swearing. He hadn't seen the troops coming in the side streets, heavily armed and mad as hell. The dove into the wreckage of an old building. Her laugh rang in his ears. He gave her a look, and she merely pointed at the dust covered alter, still perfectly intact in the ruins of the church.

"No paper trail?" he said with a grin.

"No paper trail!" She laughed back before popping up and shooting as she walked backwards, seamlessly stepping over broken alters and brick rubble. He followed her, placing explosive arrows at the front of a large group before picking out heavily armed individuals. His back bumped the alter and he looked to his right, and there was Natasha. Firing away, smiling. Dust and blood in her hair, chapped lips, and perfect.

"I vow to always have your back," He yelled over the gun fire.

"I vow to keep disputes to words only," she replied.

"I vow to never leave on a mission without telling you."

"I vow to let you have a secret nest," She said as she kicked a man who'd snuck up on the side in the face before slitting his throat.

"I vow to never, ever touch your secret stash of tea."

"I vow to only make fun of your ridiculous emotions in light heartedness."

"I vow to do whatever it takes to get you back if you've been compromised."

"I vow to do whatever it takes to get you back if you've been compromised," she repeated.

Without another word they leaned over and kissed, hands still holding their weapons out, but damn if the heat from that kiss couldn't have just melted the whole army in front of them.

Natasha laid some mines down before they ran off towards the rendezvous point. She was almost tempted to reach out for his hand as they ran, but that would slow them down. Instead she stole a glance at her newly minted husband. Sweat carving streams in the dust, cocky grin on his face, a gash trickling blood down his arm, perfect.

"Get the marksmen on those buildings and up here, NOW!" she yelled at the rebel forces as they approached. The men scrambled into position and Natasha and Clint coolly stopped in front of the gathering rebel forces. They really had brought everyone.

They could hear the other army approaching.

"Listen!" Clint shouted, "We're here to help, Nick Fury sent us," whispers went off through the crowd and every face instantly tuned into him. He'd thought it strange when the Director had told him to tell the rebel crowds that he sent them, but he didn't question it. Fury was one of the few people Clint was afraid of. Natasha asked and the answer was something like "Shut the fuck up, Agent Romanoff and read your file."

"We know this is scary, but we need to stand our ground," yelled Natasha, "They will surrender to us when they realize we have everyone on our side," suddenly she whistled and the woman and child from earlier came out of a building, leading a lengthy train of women and children. One of them held a sign that said, "Father, please stop fighting us." So that was her play, emotional warfare, Clint thought. She would be the best at it.

"They're almost here, stay strong!" Clint called and raised his fist, the crowd mimed in solidarity. Agent Coulson stepped out of the group, straightening his tie and walking calmly to the two dirty, bleeding agents at the head of the crowd.

"Agents."

"Coulson," Clint greeted, Natasha just nodded.

"Nice ceremony."

Natasha opened her mouth to yell something obscene, but he held up a finger to shush her. Her hand snapped forth to break it, but Clint caught her by the wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze to communicate that breaking Coulsons fingers, albeit warranted, was still out of the question.

"What happens in Budapest stays in Budapest," he continued smiling smugly, "'mum's' the word or whatever." His eyes focused behind them as the sound of the boots on the old streets rounded the corner. "Our friends are here."

The three turned to face the approaching army, Natasha waved the little girl with the sign up.

"Nick Fury sent us," Coulson said.

Whispers went over the forces.

"Papa!" the little girl yelled and waved to her dad, like he wasn't standing there with blood on his clothes and a gun. He started crying.

"As you can see, you are matched," Clint said.

"Plus we have Fury," Coulson continued, "So, if you want to surrender and negotiate, you can take us to your general."

"Or we can take you all out," Natasha said blankly. "What you saw on your walk here was just me and the archer," she added.

The men shuddered, they duo had certainly left more than one pile of bodies on their way to the meeting spot.

"I will take you!" a man stepped forward.

"Alright, let's go!" Coulson said cheerily.

The father ran to her daughter.

"There will be a cease fire. This war is over." Clint addressed both sides, and the leaders of the groups nodded. The crowds mingled in relief as they followed Coulson.

Later that night, when negotiations were over, they collapsed on the hotel bed.

"Mrs. Barton?"

"What, Mr. Romanoff?" she replied, he couldn't deny that's really how their relationship went, so he let it slide.

"No paper trail."

"No paper trail."

He turned to her, smiling. She grabbed the neck of his vest and pulled him in for a kiss. There was a knock on the door, and he groaned as she eyed it suspiciously. He answered it while she sat on the bed, gun in her hand. Debating to kill whoever interrupted them.

"A mister A. Gentkay upgraded you to the honeymoon suite. I will take your bags if you will just follow me."

They insisted on carrying their own bags, as the tiny man led them to a much larger and much nicer hotel room. There was a bottle of Champaign waiting for them. The card simply read, "Budapest." In Coulson's chicken scratch handwriting.

"Remind me to sign the Christmas card," Natasha said quietly as she examined the room.

"Will do," Clint said picking up the expensive Champaign and popping it open. The cork went flying in her direction and she caught it without looking. "Hey, come have some of this," he said before putting his thumb over the top and shaking it. When she stepped over with glass ready, he sprayed her. She actually squealed in surprise, which was a first. She dove at him, swiftly taking the dripping bottle out of his hand and pinning him to the ground in a fluid movement. The golden liquid dripped down her face and neck, and Clint leaned up to lick a stream of champaign between her breasts.

"Don't waste a nice gift," she said before kissing him back. She set the bottle down and tore him from the floor, pulling him up by his vest before hungrily kissing him. She was pulling at his vest, and he was pulling at her jacket as they pushed their way to the beds. She bit his ear lobe and his nails wracked over her shoulders as he pushed her jacket to the floor.

They were still covered in dust and blood, some theirs and some not, but they didn't care. They hurriedly stripped the rest of their clothes and before she could even climb on the bed Clint was grabbing her thick hips and thrusting up into her soaking wet heat. She moaned out loud as his hand slid roughly over the front of her body and held her throat gently. Her hands on the footboard to steady them as he pounded into her from behind. She wanted more, and somewhere between the moans, gasped out "bed."

His strong arms turned her around and he kissed her hard as they moved carefully to the side of the bed. She crawled backwards as he kissed forward, suddenly he was back inside her and they were both calling out for God. She pushed back and flipped him over, and he bit at her neck hard enough to bruise as she rode him. They tumbled all over the bed, exchanging dominance, moans, and rough kisses. There were going to be bruises on her hips from his hands, and there was most definitely a red mark that fit his hand perfectly on her ass. He had more than a few claw marks from her sharp hand as well as matching teeth marks. Somewhere in the midst of all the furious, passionate fucking, "Till death do us part," was whispered on both ends.

Some hours later when they were both spent and sated they slip into the shower to finally clean off the blood, and dirt, and now each other, they hold each other and smile and kiss tenderly. They were married in their own way. Ceremony under possibility of death. Honeymoon in a war torn city. Bodies battered by enemies and with love. Nothing fit them more perfectly than each other.

She'd always remember it as the mission where she'd risked everything for emotional responses.

He'd always remember it as the mission where passion and fear of loss had been the only reason for it in the first place.

Either way, they'd never forget Budapest.


	8. Chapter 8

The room felt stifling, he was good at waiting, but he never liked it. She sat expressionless beside him, she didn't know if she was excited or nervous. They desperately wanted to hold hands, but there were too many eyes in the room.

"Now, I realize you two could both probably shut off the security system and kill them both in the bat of an eyelash, but I trust you not to. Which is honestly a stupid fucking idea, but they'll be hell to pay if you do," The director looked at them sternly. Somehow his one eye seemed to be more effective at scaring the shit out of people than if he had two. The partners just nodded tightly. Clint had no doubt Natasha was already thinking of all the ways she could kill the suspects. He was. "You two are the only people that know what was really missing in the intel that led to…" They all shifted uncomfortably, even Coulson. Natasha's jaw just tightened. Clint could practically hear her teeth grinding. "That led to Agent Romanoff being compromised," he finished. "Agent Coulson and I have personally examined every link in this chain, and these are the weakest links," he tossed two file folders at each of them. "I'll send someone to escort you to the interrogation rooms in a couple hours, give you time to prepare," he looked at the stern woman when he said that, there was a hint of sympathy in his eye. The man beside her opened his mouth to protest but before he could utter a word Fury cut him off, "Did I ask for your opinion, Barton? You need to calm the fuck down before you go in there, so go and prepare. Dismissed." Clint put his kicked dog feelings aside and left with a blank face, but his knuckles were white around the curled file folders.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. reconnaissance teams held agents lives in their hands. They were the people that gathered schematics, itinerary, and any other information regarding the mission's objective an operative would need. They were as respected as the operatives themselves, their roles were equally as important. The team that had been sent to Milan to had been picked apart for weeks. There were two of them with stories that didn't quite fit, and possible motives. Richard Copet: A former MI6 agent who had a cousin aligned with the mark's political party and had been radio quiet for 26 minutes during the building recon operation. The other was Nadia Link: A former soviet jewel and art thief who had a knack for finding weak spots in security. Nothing about her rang any bells; she was squeaky clean except for what the mark had said about his "Russian friends." Something about her just didn't sit right with Fury or Coulson.

"You don't have to do this, Nat," he said reaching for her hand, "I can take care of it, I'll get them."

"I'm not a fucking damsel in distress," she said bitterly but threaded her fingers with his all the same. "I need to do this."

"We'll make them pay."

"I'm pretty sure Fury has an afternoon set away personally to make them pay. I'm not worried about how they pay."

"After what they did to you? I'd drag out their suffering for weeks," He was seething with rage. His grey eyes looked like violent oceans.

She let go of his hand, "You're too angry to do this properly. You're going to lose control."

"Of course I'm fucking angry. I want whoever this bastard is to pay for what happened."

"I'm less concerned about the payment and more concerned about why it happened. If you bring all this rage in there you're going to blow the whole thing."

There was a knock on the door and Maria Hill peaked her head in, "Barton, it's go time."

He stood up and stalked off, fists balled ready to fight. Natasha sat quietly sipping her tea.

* * *

"YOU CAN'T KILL ME, FURY WILL HAVE YOU THROWN IN ANTARTICA!"

"Worse things could happen," he shrugged, his hand tightening around Richard Copet's neck. "Worse things did happen. So why don't you tell me why you fucking sabotaged the intel and maybe I'll let you freeze your pathetic balls off on an ice cube for the rest of your days."

Richard was turning an alarming shade of purple, trying to choke out words under the hawk's crushing talons. His feet kicked in the air against the wall, trying to get leverage to push himself out of the grasp. His vision was being dotted with black. Suddenly he was flying face first at the table. He heard his cheekbone snap and felt the spike of pain a moment later as a hand pulled his head back so hard he was going to have a bald patch.

"I didn't do anything. I swear!" He pleaded, " My radio broke. I discovered it later when I realized I wasn't getting any feedback. I'd never cross S.H.I.E.L.D.!"

"Even for family?" Clint growled against his ear before letting the other man's hair go and brushing the strands he'd pulled loose from his palm.

"I haven't spoken to Dyreen in years."

"But you knew she had ties with the Party."

"Yes! I reported it!"

"So you're a snitch even against your own blood for a little pay bump? I wonder what your price is Richard. It's easy to fake radio problems, you'd know that. Those MI6 boys are big fans of signal jammers."

"I left MI6 twenty years ago!"

"You still have pals there, we checked."

"I'm sure you do too, agent," he sighed. His cheek was starting to swell profusely.

"I don't. I don't have friends, Rich. I have a partner, who happens to be the only person I care about this on this damned planet," he walked behind the captive and put his hands firmly on his shoulders and leaned close to his ear, "And whoever was involved with her getting hurt is going to pay with their life."

He left without another word, leaving Richard to swell and stew in his agony.

He took a minute to compose himself before going into the room that held Nadia.

"Afternoon," he greeted in Russian.

"Agent Barton," she said sourly.

"I'm not going to dick around, Nadia." He sat in the chair opposite to her, leaning It back against the wall, feet on the table, "I know it was your job to survey his room."

"I did. The glass one inch thick plate. I wrote it in my report. Someone changed it."

"Why would they do that?" He mused.

"You're the operative, I'm just the inspection crew, you figure it out," she spat.

"He mentioned Russian friends."

"There are a lot of Russians, if I recall you're a fan of switching our allegiance."

"So you're still a fan of the home country?"

"No. But I'm not a fan of this one either."

"Then why'd you join S.H.I.E.L.D?"

"Because when you're caught breaking into the president's vault at Fort Knox you really don't have too many options," her words were dripping with resentment.

"You don't sound too happy about your new job."

"I am the best thief in the fucking world and I'm stuck doing bullshit recon missions for a one eyed madman."

"So you want to do more?"

"Of course I do, you dumb bastard!"

He kicked the table hard enough to send her flying backwards, pinned to the wall with a table jammed between her probably broken ribs.

"So you think you'll get a spot on the team if you make a spot?" he leaned over the table, staring into her eyes. It's hard to tell which of them is angrier.

"Operatives die all the time, you should know that," she replied through her teeth.

"You should know that I could kill you without a second thought right now."

"But you won't, because then you'll never know if it was really me or not."

He gave the table a shove and she let out a breathless yelp as it further caved her ribcage in. He walked out.

Hill sat in the windowless hallway, "Done?"

"I hope Fury kills both of those bastards," he said storming off.

"I'll take that as a yes," she called down the hallway after him.

She found Natasha where she'd been when Clint left.

"I'm surprised Barton left anything left for you."

"I am too honestly," she said flatly. She'd always liked Hill. She was tenacious and ruthless. In another life they would have been close friends.

"He's all yours," the lithe woman said as she handed Natasha an icepack and punched a code in the door.

When she opened the door and she saw the man sitting behind his own eye swollen shut, she knew why. She handed it to him and sat down.

"I feel a little insulted that you're going to try good cop, bad cop on me." He pressed the icepack gently to his face.

"I'm not. That was from Hill."

He gulped, a nervous laugh escaped his throat, "You can't fuck me up more than Barton did."

"You know I can."

He fidgeted nervously. She just watched his eyes as he tried to shift out of hers.

"What happened in those 26 dead air minutes?" She asked simply.

"Nothing. I told Coulson, Fury, and that maniac partner of yours the same thing."

"And you're going to tell me the truth."

"It is the truth!"

She didn't respond. She just watched him. Minutes ticked by, and she sat completely motionless, just staring. A thought crossed his mind that they should have called her Hawkeye. He shifted nervously. Minutes turned to hours, and she still just watched him. He tried to get a reaction out of her, but she just waited for him to answer. Some time long after the ice pack had melted and he'd started crying out of frustration, he simply whimpered out, "I turned my radio off."

"To be with Dyreen," she continued for him.

"How did you know?"

"You regularly send each other love letters under false names. I'm really disappointed you didn't even tell her to get a P.O. box in a different city, it was too easy to find. That's just sloppy."

"So you believe me?" his eyes pleaded with the unamused woman.

"Yes."

"Oh thank fucking Christ, Barton was going to kill me!" he collapsed into his chair.

"He still might," she said as she left the room.

Nadia's table had been pushed back in place, and she was seated calmly at it, trying not to breath to hard against her broke ribs.

"So how long were you in the Blue Room?" Natasha said before she even sat down.

Nadia smiled a super villain smirk, "10 years."

"You did a good job faking your resume but you missed something."

"What was that?"

"You only stole the second most expensive piece from the Kremlin."

"You caught me," she shrugged painfully, but still with that smile that was making Natasha's skin crawl. "Had to make it look I like I hit all the best places. Well I did, but you know."

"So they sent you?"

"You didn't think you could just leave did you? You'd the Blues are better at infiltration anyways," she said pridefully, like being from the thief guild was better than being from the assassins guild. To Natasha it was like saying cockroach is better than a centipede, but she didn't let her disgust show.

"They really went through all this trouble to kill me?"

"You were their star pupil, Natalia. It looks bad when you switch teams without consequence."

"It's Natasha now."

"They know they can penetrate, that we can penetrate even S.H.I.E.L.D. now. You will never be able to hide. We will kill Fury. His lapdog. We will kill the Hawk in front of you. And we wont be kind enough to give you Death. No, you're still too useful. It shouldn't be too hard to get Natalia back. A little TLC with Barnes and you'll be back in Red heaven."

"Those are some pretty cute plans, thanks for the heads up."

She raised a gun and pointed it straight at Nadia's head.

"Killing me isn't going to make them go away," she said with a smirk.

"I know," Natasha replied evenly before pulling the trigger and watching red bloom in the previously spotless room as the chair and the body fell backwards. "It was just fun."

She tucked her gun back into her holster and walked to Fury's office.

"I shot her."

"Didn't I tell you not to kill them?"

"She was working for a Red Room side program called the Blue Room. You better start checking your agents more carefully," she turned to leave.

He sighed, "If you disobey an order like that again I'll—"

"I know, sir."

"Dismissed."

She walked back to her room, her head was a blur of emotions. Relief, fear, anger.

Clint sat on the bed, clearly still upset, he jumped up to meet her.

"She's dead."

"What?"

"Blah blah blah Russian double agent. I shot her in the head."

"Fury's gonna—"

"He's okay with it."

"Why couldn't I have helped?"

"Wasn't your score to settle, Clint. I can handle my own battles."

He looked sheepish and she could tell he was trying to think of a way to defend himself. She sighed and kissed him gently, "But thank you for trying to protect me."

"So now what happens?"

"We should probably both move, they might be watching us."

"We could move in together…cause of you know…the being married thing.. and safety reasons of course." He tried to hide the smile.

She smiled back, "I suppose."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_** _Thank you all for the amazing compliments and reviews about everything and I'm so glad you all loved Budapest so much! I hope I can continue to please. I appreciate the reviews and responses and subs/favs. Thank you all so much!_


	9. Chapter 9

"You wanted to see me before I left, Director Fury?"

"Yeah, sit," he ordered.

Fury took a moment to put away his papers and Natasha sat at the edge of her seat. She didn't like to get comfortable when she was about to be yelled at, and he looked beyond pissed.

"What I'm about to say is so classified if it ever leaves this room I will hunt you down and personally put a bullet in your head, got it?"

"Crystal clear, sir."

She'd never admit it out loud, but she loved ultra classified stuff. She knew all the secrets, and she loved it. She'd take them to her grave, you couldn't get them out of her with years of torture.

"Natasha, I think of you like a daughter," he sighed almost disdainfully.

"Excuse me, sir?" Well that was unexpected. Even she couldn't hide the surprise from her face.

"An incredibly scary, vicious, pain in the ass daughter, but a daughter none the less. After the Milan mission and the subsequent unearthing of the Russian mole in our midst, I wanted to make sure that you've been taking safety precautions, moving and all that shit," said the ever eloquent Fury.

"Uh I—"

"Yes or no, Romanoff."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I want to install some extra security there."

"Already done, sir."

"What about live guards?"

"I have one, actually."

"Don't fuck with me, Natasha. I want to personally clear him myself."

"Is Clint Barton cleared by you?"

His face briefly registered surprise, but was overtaken by extreme annoyance.

"Barton is your live in guard?"

"He's the only person I trust with my life."

"I'm not sure how I feel about this situation."

"No offense, sir, but I've got it under control. Barton has my back and we—I've got the house completely fortified."

"Mhmm," he looked unimpressed still. "Fine, whatever. If you get gobbled up by the Russians cause Barton was too busy doing whatever weird shit that guy does, I am not coming to save your ass."

"Fair enough, sir."

"Dismissed."

As she left she mentally added his name to put on the Christmas card list. She and Clint purchased a house in the middle of 50 acres of land under the name Mr. Gavin and Lilith Dima. The old Victorian had been retrofitted with nearly as much security as she S.H.I.E.L.D. bases and helicarrier. Clint had installed his and hers weapons arsenals in the training room as a wedding gift to Natasha. She'd had the old workshop in the back outfitted with new equipment and stocked it with every kind of wood Clint could ever want as his gift. He's been sketching out plans for furniture and bows he wants to make in his free time. It felt like home. It was cozy, quiet, and out of reach of prying eyes and ears. She couldn't wait to go home tonight, finally back from a mission in Uruguay sans Clint. She hadn't seen him in a few weeks. Hadn't even heard his voice. She would surely break the speed limit all the way home.

If home is where the heart is, Clint Barton's heart had been on a classified mission in the southern hemisphere for three weeks. He'd stayed in his workshop the whole time, sleeping in the loft he'd made in there. He'd carved her a statue of a spider, an ebony black widow with a bloodwood inlay for the marking. He'd also made them a kitchen table and some chairs and was currently working on a porch swing, even though neither were porch swing kind of people. The monitor in the corner let out an alarming cheep and a video of Natasha's jeep popped up. She'd just turned onto the road leading to the hose.

He quick checked how he looked in the mirror; tired and unshaven. Whoops. He heard the car crunch on the gravel and turn off. He ran to meet her.

She was barely out of the car before Clint was lifting her up and kissing her and mumbling "I fucking missed you," against her lips.

"I missed you too," she said laughing as he spun her. "Okay, no more romance movies while I'm away."

"Haven't even left the shop," he said kissing down her neck. His scruff was scraping and his lips were soothing, she loved it.

"I can tell, I like it."

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her against the jeep, kissing her breathless. He wanted his wife, now.

"Bedroom?" she suggested as he began to unbutton her pants, he laughed like the thought hadn't occurred to him and wrapped his arm around her waist and his other under her knees and carried her into the house. She protested, laughing and mock kicking, but she had an internal girl moment of loving it.

He broke the bedroom door kicking it open. Natasha laughed. He'd build a new one. He threw her on the bed and resumed working on her pants. Pulling the tight denim down and breathing in the scent of her. He didn't bother to take off her panties. No, he just ripped the lacey thong off of her

"Hey!" She protested, "I liked those."

He was kissing the inside of her thigh, nosing at her wetness, sucking her clit into his mouth; she let out a small moan.

"Ooh, I like that more, fuck."

He slipped two fingers in her, curling them against her walls in a way that made her hips buck and her legs quiver. His stubble rubbed her raw in a way that just made her more wet. She pulled his short hair, "get the fuck in me, now!"

He grinned wickedly as he shucked his pants, taking in the view of her spread wide on the bed, panting and waiting for him. Now was not a time to be gentle. He thrust into her as he kissed her roughly, she gasped in his mouth and he smiled as she bit his lip.

He tore at her shirt, she flung off her bra. His hands and mouth roamed as he continued his brutal pace. Her fingers scraped under his shirt and tore it off too, she wanted to feel every inch of him.

It wasn't long before they both came undone. They collapsed next to each other laughing off the high of orgasm. She sighed dreamily and said "I like it when you don't shave." Before rolling on top of him again.


	10. Chapter 10

"Barton, you will be going to New Mexico to keep an eye on Doctor Eric Selvig and his work on the Tesseract."

"Why me?"

"Are you questioning an order?" the Director growled and glared.

"No sir, I was just wondering why I was chosen for this mission?"

"Because you've got a keen eye for bullshit and treachery. You'll be on a S.H.I.E.L.D. base while you're there, but I want you with the Tesseract at all times."

"Not a problem, sir."

"Romanoff, you will be going to Russia?"

"Do you really think that's such a good idea, sir?"

He turned to Coulson and Maria, "What is it with these motherfuckers today?" he turned back to them, "Do y'all think you can just walk into _my_ office and question _my_ orders?"

"No, sir." They answered in monotone unison.

"Then stop it! And no, I don't think it's a fucking good idea, I think it's a stupid-ass idea, but the Authority ordered it so you're going to go. Here's your damn files. Now both of you get the fuck out of my office."

They walked down the hall silently, Clint was fuming.

"He keeps sending us to different places on purpose."

"Probably, but there's really nothing we can do about it at the moment," Natasha answered, her nose already buried in her file.

"Do you know how long my mission is, Nat?"

"Mine should only take a month tops."

His hand grabbed her shoulder to turn her to him, "Mine's indefinite."

"Indefinite?" she said trying to get the idea of it through her head.

"As long as it takes this Selvig guy to figure out what he needs to figure out or until they decide I can go home."

"Well that certainly puts a damper on our chirstmas plans," she said blankly before continuing down the hall.

"Will you fucking stop with your stoic 'if-I-don't-show-any-emotion-maybe-I-won't-feel-any,' shit, Natasha?"

She pulled him by his collar into an empty room and pushed him against the wall, "We are at work, Clint. There is no other emotional response at work," she hissed. "I will grieve when I have time too, which won't be for a few weeks apparently, but I can assure you I am very fucking upset that my husband is going to be in the fucking desert indefinitely." She gave him a light shove against the wall for good measure.

Clint mumbled something under his breath.

"Don't fucking mumble, Clint."

"I said you're right. Christ Natasha, you're always right! Go home to Russia and make some more notches on your fucking belt, Fury will be so proud."

"That was out of fucking line. What the hell is your problem?" She looked like she was ready to hit him, fists clenched, teeth barred. She was appalled, angry, and entirely justified and he knew it.

"Nothing, I have to go to New Fucking Mexico. I'll see you eventually." He pushed past her and stomped down the hall.

This was not a good start to the day.

He drove to the house while he knew she was busy with her recon and mission teams to grab his stuff. He threw civies and toiletries, his carving knife and a few paper backs into his duffle bag haphazardly. As he walked out of the bedroom he stopped, walked back to the hamper and dug out a shirt of his Natasha had slept in the last couple nights. He held it up to his nose and breathed in the scent of roses, rain water, and her unique smell. He unzipped a side pocket on his duffle, folded it and set it in there before resuming his unseen storm out. He was on a plane to New Mexico within 15 minutes of being back on the base. Calmly reading his file on Selvig and Tesseract while he flew in the opposite direction of the women he loved, not knowing the next time he would see her.

Except that he wasn't that calm. He couldn't focus on the file. He'd read the same line twenty times and still had no idea what it actually said. All he could think about was the look on her face when he said "Go home." It was uncalled for. He knew she was Fury's golden child, even though she didn't like to admit it, he was actually proud of her for being so good that even Fury respected her. But it did however, irk him that he knew she kept things between her and Fury secret. Even though he knew he would, and has done the same to her. It was an unfair emotion, and he knew that. But it still pissed him off. And now she was angry at him, and he didn't know when he'd see her again. What if whenever his mission ended he went home to find the house empty of her things? Or worse, what if he wasn't there on her mission when she needed him, and she didn't come home to get her things at all? He spent the rest of the plane ride carving his tray into a topographical map of the area of New Mexico they were flying too. The flight staff wasn't impressed.

Natasha didn't want to think about the fight. Nor the viciousness in Clint's words. Nor the 'indefinite' part of his assignment. That hurt too much. It felt like getting shot in the chest at point blank range. Which Natasha knows for a fact, even with Kevlar, hurts like a bitch. She dove into planning. Taking down gun smugglers would be easy, they just had to have something to prove. Russia wouldn't extradite them to the USA to pay for their crimes, but getting the criminals here wasn't the problem, getting them to confess while Natasha recorded it was the real issue. But she'd done this dozens of times before. She'd even done this while being a wanted woman in the territory she was invading before. But never before, had she done this, while grappling with personal issues she wasn't sure she could completely put aside, while being hunted by some of the world's top killers, in their own territory. Over half of the mission was just going to be avoidance.

After the recon teams were dispatched and the prep teams were preparing to leave, Natasha dismissed herself. She walked out to the Jeep she and Clint had arrived in this morning, she could still smell his aftershave lingering inside. In the cup holder sat some extra, natural bow strings Clint had wanted to test in the S.H.I.E.L.D. labs if their mission briefings were over quickly. He didn't get the chance. She took one out and wrapped it around her wrist before tying an unsolvable knot. Her phone beeped at her, it was time to go.

For the first week, he didn't allow himself to feel anything. He just blocked it out. Watched Slevig and his team. At night he wouldn't sleep for more than an hour or too, preferring instead to running and rerunning background checks on Selvig's team and the guards in this area of the base. They were always clean, but he ran them again.  
She spent her first week schmoozing filthy businessmen in dark Russian clubs. Then she went back to her hotel and drank until the next day when she met up with other contacts. And then it'd repeat. Maybe it was reckless, but maybe she didn't entirely care.

By the second week Clint had ran out of people to background check. Selvig was smart and Fury was already on the base discussing the Tesseract with him. He'd planted a mic on Selvig to listen. Fury no doubt knew it was there, he was merely letting Clint listen. At night, he'd sleep in his nest above the constant blue glow of the energy cube. He'd pull Natasha's shirt out and breath in her scent. He was sorry, and he felt like the world's biggest ass. He snuck out one night and found a postcard in a gift shop with a hawk flying above the New Mexico plains. He simply wrote "I'm sorry, with love." In their coded Russian cypher and mailed it to the Russian S.H.I.E.L.D. base.  
Natasha had gained considerable leverage over the arms dealer. She just needed to get him to admit it. She had documents for shipping orders to America, but there was no way to be certain he was really just shipping in teddy bears. During a strategy meeting, an intern handed her a battered postcard. She saw the hawk and slipped it into the breast pocket of her suit for later. In her hotel she traced her fingers over his pen strokes and decided she was going to New Mexico after debriefing. Fury be damned, she'd tell him the truth if she had to. She mailed an envelope to New Mexico, the only thing inside was a tissue with the lipstick print of a kiss.

Things started acting strange with the Tesseract. Fury was back and everyone was on alert, Clint just watched. This would delay going home.  
Things with the arms dealer were wrapping up, she'd be on a plane to New York to debrief tomorrow. A phone rang.

"Is for her?"

Moments later a phone was shoved under her ear, "Do you mind? I'm at work here. This idiot is telling me everything."

She rolled her eyes as the now scared shitless Russian arms dealer denied it feebly to his goons.

"Barton's been compromised."

Boom. No Kevlar.

"Please hold."

* * *

**_author's__ note:_**that's right folks, we're getting to the events in avengers! Sorry for the shorter/shittier chapters lately, I've been compromised. I'll have better work for you soon.


	11. Chapter 11

**WARNING:** _There are strong adult themes concerning sex practices and non-heterosexual sex in this chapter. There is also brief mentions of rape._

_**Author's**_

* * *

Mayday, mayday.

The plane was in a tailspin hurtling towards the ground. Black smoke streaking through the sky, flames and debris added to the canvas. There was no way to stop, there was no way to get out. The only thing to do was to watch the ground, not the ground, the city, speed closer and hope the people in the buildings got out.

Except they weren't crashing. They were descending into Karaket, India smoothly. But Natasha's heart was crashing against her chest as she retched into the inflight lavatory. Her hands shook as she wiped bile from her mouth and attempted to stand despite the fact her legs had collapsed under her minutes ago. She was going to die. If Clint wasn't already dead, she wasn't going to be able to save him. She was going to have the life squeezed out of her by the Hulk. He was in charge of the negotiation, he had all the control, and she knew it. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew it. The scores of specially trained S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers she just spoke to were about as useful as plastic army men if something went down. She didn't let it show in her voice as she commanded them and told them the plan. She only let the ruthlessness and authority show. That's the only thing the Black Widow has room for. Even Natasha Romanoff doesn't have room for panic attacks in airplane bathrooms, but Natasha Romanoff is constantly defying people and nature, whether she wants to or not.

She stood up and rinsed the acrid taste from her mouth and steeled herself before she changed into something less obvious then a little black dress. A simple top, a long skirt, and a shawl. Frankly this is something she would have worn at home, but it worked to blend in here. At least she'd be comfy when she died.

The air was hot and sticky, though it always is in India. She liked it here; she could just blend into the crowd. No one asked questions, just if she wanted to buy wears. India was a good place to go to disappear, Bruce Banner had the right idea. She could hear the frantic yells of the girl she paid to lure the doctor to this hut. Her footsteps across the kitchen, through the bedroom, out the window.

"Should have got paid up front, Banner," the tired doctor sighed to himself.

Remember your script, don't let him know you can't breathe, and keep him calm. She took a shaky breath, show time.

"You know, for a man who's supposed to be avoiding stress, you picked a hell of a place to settle."

"Avoiding stress isn't the secret," he said noncommittally, now exploring the room.

"Then what is it? Yoga?"

"You brought me to the edge of the city, smart. I, ah…I assume the whole place is surrounded?"

"Just you and me," she smiled softly, reassuringly, like she'd spent so much time practicing as she lied through her teeth.

"And your actress buddy, is she a spy too? Do they start that young?" he nervously fidgeted.

"I did," she said, holding back a wave of nausea and rage.

"Who are you?"

"Natasha Romanoff."

"Are you here to kill me, Miss Romanoff? Because that's not going to work out for everyone," he said, almost disappointed.

"No. No, of course not. I'm here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," there was tension in his words, Natasha's fingers flinched towards one of her many hidden weapons, but just barely. "How did they find me?"

"We never lost you, Doctor. We've kept our distance, even helped keep some other interested parties off your scent."

"Why?"

"Nick Fury trusts you. But now I need you to come in."

"What if I said no?"

She smiled ruefully, and took a hippy step forward, "I'll persuade you."

"And what if the…Other guy," he said through gritted teeth, "says no."

"You've been more than a year without and incident. I don't think you wanna break that streak."

"I don't always get what I want."

She was getting tired of this quickly, he made her nervous. "Doctor, we're facing a potential global castastrophe."

"Well, those I actively try to avoid."

She pulls out her phone and pulls up a picture, "This is the Tesseract," she hands it him, "it has the potential energy to wipe out the entire planet."

"What do you want me to do?" He looked skeptical, "Swallow it?"

"Well he wants you to find it. It's been taken," along with my partner, she mentally added. "It omits a gamma signature that's too weak for us to trace. There's no one that knows gamma radiation like you do. If there was, that's where I'd be."

"So Fury isn't after the monster?" she could detect the faintest trace of hope in his voice, behind the annoyance and obvious distrust.

"Not that he's told me."

"And he tells you everything?" his tone was quickly becoming dark.

"Talk to Fury, he needs you on this."

"He needs me in a cage?"

Uh oh. She could feel the bile rising in her throat again as his hands tightened into fists, "No one's going to put you in a—"

"STOP LYING TO ME," the rough voice yells from somewhere inside of Banner but entirely not Bruce Banner at all. Her entire body reacted, she swallowed her stomach she grabs her gun and without hesitating points it at the scientist. Her hands are shaking though, she's holding her breath. She can't stop it. Something snaps back in him, he's smiling sheepishly and holding up his hands. "I'm sorry. That was mean. I just wanted to see what you'd do," he smiles a little. "Why don't we do this the easy way where you don't use that, and I the other guy doesn't make a mess."

She's still frozen, he can see the tremors wracking her body, for a moment she chides herself for her unprofessionalism, but really who can blame her?

"Natasha…"

She lowers her gun, she's got to call off the dogs before things do get messy, "Stand down. We're good here."

He smiles at her with a hint of laughter hiding behind it, "Just you and me, huh?"

When they are safely back on the plane headed for New York City and Banner is comfortable she dismisses herself. She barely gets the door of the bathroom slid shut before she's back to retching into the stainless steel toilet, shaking so violently she can hardly support herself, tears streaming down her face. The hint of green tingeing Banner's skin as his fists had slammed the table so hard there were dents in it flashed, the face of her rapist, the feeling when Coulson had explained what happened to Clint, the dead, cold look she saw in his eyes on the security feed before an arrow destroyed the camera, all flashed through her mind and her body tried to expel it through her stomach and mouth. She collapsed on the floor, shaking and sobbing over the toilet. She cursed her weakness. If anyone saw her like this, she would have killed them before it had registered to them what was going on. She was Natasha Fucking Romanoff, and she was in fucking charge of this. Kind of.

Eventually she pulled herself off the floor, fixed her makeup, and popped some gum in her mouth. She hadn't been tasked with actually talking to Banner beyond getting him to come with, and she wasn't someone who sought company outside of Clint and occasionally Mariah Hill or Phil Coulson. But here she was, walking towards Bruce Banner, who was calmly reading a paperback of Tolstoy's _War and Peace_. She almost smiled, something about him was kind and soft, you wanted to hold his hand and have a picnic, if you could forget about the fact he was also anger and hatred incarnated in strength beyond measure.

"I never pegged you as a fan of Russian literature, Doctor Banner."

"Please, call me Bruce. And are you a fan, Romanoff does have Russian origins? Daughter or granddaughter of immigrants?"

She let her born accent permeate her voice, it sounded rusty to her, but it was undeniably Russian. "I was born, and trained there as a spy. I defected," her American accent, which had become her natural slowly seeped back in, "to the USA after my current partner spared my life on orders to kill me." Her mouth suddenly snapped shut; she had no idea why she was admitting this to him.

"So why did S.H.I.E.L.D. take you?"

"Fury doesn't like wasting valuable assets. That's why you're here, you're the best there is at this gamma radiation stuff."

"And my other assets? I'm sure you have others besides being a master negotiator."

"I'm an assassin. One of the best in the world, if I say so myself. You, Doctor," he gave her a pointed look directed at the title, "Bruce," she corrected, "are a brilliant scientist and strategist, if your ability to hide and work on the o—your self control while being in a constantly stressful manhunt is anything to go by. You might have a way of looking at things killers and soldiers don't."

"Fury told you all this?"

"He's a man of few words. He trusts you. and I trust him, most of the time."

He laughed, "Is there anyone you trust all of the time, Miss Romanoff?"

"Please, Natasha. And there is only one person I trust, it's my partner."

"Tell me about him?" The doctor shifted in his seat, looking at her with interest. It wasn't very often either of them had conversations about their personal lives. Here, in the middle of the night, flying over an ocean in the cabin of a nearly empty plane Natasha had swept for bugs three times over already, she figured, she had control over the uncontrollable man. She felt a strange sense of calm and kinship to him already. She was still scared shitless, but she saw there was much more to Bruce Banner than everyone else saw. He sensed her hesitation, "I'm sorry, that was out of line," he laughed nervously, "my apologies."

"N-no. It's alright. But if I tell you something, you tell me something. This really is just you and me, no Fury, no S.H.I.E.L.D., no ulterior motives. I have a feeling neither of us get to…Share very often."

A brief smiled twitched across his lips, "That sounds fair. Are we gonna have to pinky swear or make a blood pact or something?" he teased, and she actually smiled.

"No, but if you cross me you will never be able to hide from me, and I am worth than the wrath of anything you or the big guy can throw at me."

"and I believe it," he held out a hand, "secret alliance?" She took his firmly. They were softer than she expected, they shook. "So, tell me about him."

"His name is Clint Barton. He's the world's best marksmen. He's spent more time with a bow and quiver and a sniper rifle even though he despises guns than he ever has with another human being. He's so fucking cocky sometimes, but he's so laid back. He likes to carve in his spare time, which is actually really cool, he's started making furniture for our—" she stopped dead, there was a horrified look on her face.

"Our?" Bruce's eyebrows raised in amusement. "He's more than just one kind of partner, I take it?"

"Uh, well, I guess. I just kind of accidentally happened. That sort of thing does when you spend all of your time together for 8 years straight. You either fall in love or kill each other. The first almost happened when we met so I guess that only leaves one option," She was nervous babbling and she knew it, but it was word vomit and she couldn't stop it. "We had this mission that went totally south and I was compromised and he tracked me half way across the world just to make sure I was okay even though he knew I could have easily killed him. I trust him with my life, my body, and my secrets. We exchanged vows. We're married. Not legally. But enough for us. Except we got in this ridiculous fucking fight because Fury is actually trying to break us up as a team, he doesn't know about our personal relationship, but I underreacted and he over reacted and now he might be dead or worse and I don't know what I'd do without him!" she took a deep breath, she'd been talking so fast, slowly building volume until she realized she was yelling and there were tears brimming her eyes and she was with someone who was actually a total stranger. There was a hand on hers.

"Deep breaths. It's okay, it'll be okay. We'll find the Tesseract and you will have him back. You've got a helluva way of doing things, and I don't think you'd stop until you did anyways. But, can I suggest something without getting my teeth knocked out?" he fake winced a little. She let out a weak laugh.

"yeah, yeah go ahead."

"You should probably talk about these things more often, get a therapist or something." He laughed nervously, she smiled.

"You're probably right, but now I've got you, Doc."

"Good point. Happy I can help!"

"Your turn."

"Damn. Okay. Well, while I've been in India I've been spending time learning more about the Kama Sutra and tantric sex. You're right; one of my secrets is a form of yoga."

She gave him a sly grin, "Nailed it."

"I mean everyone has needs and…I'm assuming you know about Betty?"

"I do."

"Yeah well she was amazing, but after...It was a risk getting my heart rate up so we could never really uh, BE, together again. I heard she got married though, do you know anything about that?"

"She did. Has a baby on the way too. I'm not supposed to tell you that."

He smiled though, a genuine smile, not his sad normal smile, if she believed in souls she could have sworn his was glowng. "Good! That's wonderful! She always wanted a family. I'm so happy for her! But anyways, everyone has needs. And I uh. I actually went to some monks to learn how to control them or quell them. And they turned me on to tantric sex. It's all about becoming aligned with your body and your soul and the earth and letting the energies flow through you. I was really afraid of what might happen if I actually tried with another person. But somehow eventually I found myself at an orgy, I don't know how," he shrugged noncommittally, that sheepish smile on his face.

"It happens to the best of us," she'd be lying if she'd said she'd never been to one. Missions take you interesting places.

"Anyways, I decided just to…Go for it. And I had a really good time and it was a great release and I just felt so much more peaceful and the other guy seemed sated and so I kept going. Eventually I ended up not only with women, but men too. Also a couple intersex folks."

Natasha raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Anyways, I've realized that I like masculine people more than I like feminine in a sexual way I guess. I've never told anyone, I guess I didn't really have anyone to tell. I have contacts and patients, but no friends."

"I know the feeling."

"It feels good to get that off my chest."

"I'm glad I could help," she smiled at him.

Maybe Bruce Banner could be her friend one day. Maybe they'd just share secrets. She dismissed herself to get some rest. She trusted Bruce, but she didn't trust the other guy. She slept with her gun in her hand. She dreamed a loop of the image of Brainwashed Clint's soulless eyes staring at the camera before it went blank.

Banner was right, she'd get him back even if it took everything.


	12. Chapter 12

"Clint," Loki crooned, "If I were to get captured, tell me what do you think would happen?"

"Fury would threaten you, try to make you talk. If he couldn't get it out of you, he'd try someone more subtle, more vicious." The cold blue eyes stared ahead as Loki plotted and paced.

"Like who, pet?" he dragged a finger languidly over the archer's tight, vested shoulders.

"Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, sir."

"And who is she?"

Barton's face twisted in agony, "NO!" he screamed. His body paralyzed standing still, his face horribly pained. His muscles, refusing to move, but strained as he struggled against the other's control over him. The neon blue in his eyes flickered like a dying light bulb.

"Come on, be a good boy and tell me all about her," he said before tapping his forehead with a long, thin finger. Clint didn't flinch, instead his muscles resuming the nonchalant posture of previous, and his eyes merely resumed the steady, chilling turquoise.

"She's my partner."

"Ohh! Well that _is_ fun! More!"

Clint's body seized momentarily, before relaxing, "She was born of the Russian diplomat, Franklin Drakov."

"and who is he?"

"He _was_ the leader of the Russian resistance against communism, but he died, supposedly in a car crash."

"What really happened?"

"The government killed him, they took Natasha as punishment, put her in the Red Room, a sector of their spy program."

"How old was she?"

"Six."

"Brilliant!" He clapped his hands together, a wine glass appearing in them as he parted his hands. "Tell me your worst mission," he said as he sipped.

The blue flickered, "FUCK YOU!"

"Later," Loki said, tapping Clint's head again like tapping the glass at an aquarium, "Tell me about it."

"Soa Paulo, we were supposed to stop a scientist that was trying to recreate the Hulk serum."

"Aww, a man after my own heart!"

"He set fire to his lab, with himself inside. The explosion it caused trapped Natasha in the pediatric unit. She watched children burn to death while she was trapped under rubble."

"That must have done a number on her head, hmm?"

Clint nodded proudly, his eyes the flaming blue color of chaos.

"So what does she fear the most? Fire? Being trapped? No, that's one that would but a spy out of commission. Hmm. be a good boy and tell me, what does Natasha Romanoff fear the most?"

"Losing control."

"And rightly so! My, my. You are just a lovely little information book, aren't you? She's more than just her partner, isn't she?"

Clint's muscles struggled against their ridged position, his teeth gritting as his face twisted once again.

"Do you love her?" The thin man put his hands on the struggling captive, instantly soothing the storm. His broad, eerie grin spread across his face as he looked into the pits of blue.

"Fuck off."

* * *

He could see that grin. He couldn't stop his mouth, but he could fight it.

Clint Barton was a warrior to the heart, and maybe that is what Loki saw. That if Clint believed in something fully, he'd fight for it to the death. Here he was in his seat as they flew to Germany so the madman could use Clint's intel and techniques to get his precious metal. Techniques that Clint had suggested first, but would have only ever used as a last resort if it had actually been him speaking. Loki brought out the worst in everyone, it was his nature, it was his job, and it was his pleasure.

He could see out of his eyes, he could hear himself talking, feel everything, but he had no control. His mouth and muscles were controlled by Loki, he could feel the burning iciness of his hatred and chaos in his veins, but he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Until Natasha. He wouldn't give Loki a word about her. When he'd dug her name out of his brain, he screamed internally. He raged as hard as he possibly could. And a crack appeared in the glass separating him from the trickster's control to show for it. He pounded harder. Screamed the wrong suggestions at the wall, hoping that whoever, whatever on the other side would take his word for it. It took every ounce of strength he had, but his voice pierced the veil, and he could hear himself lying to the king of lies. But the chilling blue darkness would push back, and seek out whatever he was trying to hide, it was a whale and a giant squid wrestling at the bottom of the sea.

"Do you love her?"

He screamed so hard to overwhelm Loki's power, whatever was left of him lost consciousness.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ sorry this chapter is so short. I want to give each Clint and Natasha their own chapters to better understand what each of them individually went through. The next chapter is going to be extra long to make up for it. Thanks for everything, I love hearing what you think!_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Author's Note:_**_ A lot of this is taken directly from the avengers script, and might seem like a rerun of the movie. I did my best to show the motives, and emotions behind everything and explain things deeper than the movie did. I did not write a good 90% of the actual dialogue in this chapter. it came from Joss Whedon and is the base of this story. I am just expanding on what happened before going back into original territory. I just felt all the scenes were necessary to show what Natasha is going through. Nat and Clint will be in the same chapter again next time, instead of just focusing on one of them. I hope you enjoy this, it was A LOT harder to write than I expected and would love to hear your feedback. Also let's all hope marvel doesn't sue me._

* * *

Something about him made her skin crawl. Somewhere between the waxy pallor, the shark toothed grin, and the sharp eyes, she knew that Loki was, without a doubt, the most sinister person she'd ever met.

Except he wasn't a person. He was a god. A god of chaos, magic, and trickery. Three things she had no tolerance for and big reservations about going near. And here she was, walking towards the suspended cell housing the maddest of men, the spy who's past made her suited for his kind of evil, in attempts to save the world, and just maybe get her partner back. Though her priorities were not in that order.

"There are not many people that can sneak up on me."

"But you figured I'd come."

"After," his slippery voice crooned. "After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a blam. And I would cooperate."

She didn't want to waste precious time, "I want to know what you've done to Agent Barton."

"I'd say I've expanded his mind," the wide mouth cracked into a smile that made Natasha's stomach turn. All the things behind that smile were what Clint had been subjected too, and she could see that as clear as day.

"And once you've won, once you're king of the mountain, what happens to his mind?"

That smile somehow got brighter, Natasha wanted to put a bullet his teeth. "Is this love, Agent Romanoff?"

Love is a complicated thing to Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton knew that. They would never say the words, it was forbidden. But both knew, undeniably, what they shared was true love. And that was theirs to know and theirs alone.

"Love is for children. I owe him a debt."

"Tell me."

She took a deep breath, sitting down on the single chair in the room, "Before I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. I… Well I made a name for myself," she looked into the cold eyes, "I have a very specific skill set. I didn't care who I used it for. Or on. I got on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me, he made a different call."

She could still remember the way the smoke of the collapsing building was making her eyes sting. Her hands were slippery with blood, and shaking. Her gun clattered on the ground. There was an arrow staring her in the face. She tried to think of something clever to say. She opened her mouth and the only thing her blood stained teeth could manage was, "Please." She fell to her knees, she was going to die at this rate whether he shot her or left her. She didn't care anymore, but something about that man felt safe. Even though the arrow was still aimed for her eye socket. She didn't want to do this anymore. She didn't want to kill. She didn't want to go back to the Red Room. She just wanted to get high and spar and read. She wanted to die or she wanted to be a new person. Anyone that could give her the first, could surely give her the second. But she wasn't going to plead. "Actually, never mind. Fuck off." She said before dry heaving on the floor. He laughed. A full, hearty laugh that made her cheeks tingle.

"Would you like to live?" he had asked.

"Not especially." He watched her, grasping for her guns, coughing and bleeding out.

"Would you like a reason to live? I know some people who can help you, Miss Romanov."

This time she laughed, she held up her hands, covered in sticky red, "No one can clean up this much red in my ledger."

"Why don't you come with me and find out," he said as he lowered the bow and held out a hand instead.

She had no reason not to go. She was probably going to die either way.

Loki's voice snapped her back, "And what will you do if I vow to spare him?"

"Not let you out," she replied. If it were up to her, she'd kill him instantly as soon as she got Barton back.

"Ah, no. But I like this!" he said cheerfully. "Your world in the balance and you bargain for one man?"

"Regime's fall every day. I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian. Or, I was," she shrugged.

"And what are you know?"

"It's really not that complicated," she shrugged again. "I've got red in my ledger and I'd like to wipe it out."

Fear is red. Hesitation is red. Anxiety is red. Vulnerability is red. She wanted it gone, now.

"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakov's Daughter, Sao Paulo, The hospital fire? Barton told me everything," he sneered. "Your ledger is dripping, its gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will save anything?" He laughed cruelly, "This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer. Pathetic! You like and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away."

She fought the urge to take out her gun and shoot at the glass. She wasn't upset. No, she was beyond that. She was beyond mad. She could have taught Bruce Banner a thing or two about rage in that moment. She wanted to slice Loki into a million little pieces, fuck her code. The horrors were a part of her, she knew that, she had grown to accept that. But she knew how to control the things they did to her, and made her want to do. But currently, she wanted to let them all out with Loki as a target.

But that isn't an option right now, so with every ounce of self-control Natasha Romanoff has, she's pushing that aside, and feigning tears. Her lip is quivering, and she's pretending to try to hide it. And the king of lies buys it. She considered a career change to acting, maybe she could call herself Scarlett.

"I won't barter for Barton," he continued, "Not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear."

She shivered, but it wasn't fake this time. She channeled her anger into twisting her face in horror.

"And then he'll wake long enough just to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull!"

She turns away, she can't stand to see his face. She wants his head on a platter. She wants to use his body for target practice. She wants his teeth on a necklace.

"That is my bargain, you mewling quim!"

She fakes tears to cover the teeth grinding and fists she's making, "You're a monster," she adds for effect. In her head, she tacks on "and I will destroy you."

"Oh no, you brought the monster."

She smiles, Loki's flaw was narcissism. This whole exchange had been about him, and the fear he could bestow, so she let him attempt to bestow it. That's the thing about narcissists; they want everyone to appreciate their work, their brilliant plan has to be recognized or there is no joy in mudville.

"So, Banner? That's your play?"

A brief hint of anger flashes over his features before adopts mere annoyance at her, "What?"

"Loki means to unleash the Hulk. Keep Banner in the lab, I'm on my way. Set the door locked," she relays into her mic. She looks at him, and if looks could kill, Natasha would have melted the god into oblivion, "Thank you, for your cooperation."

"Lady Romanoff," Thor said in passing, "What's the rush?"

"Your brother is planning to use the Hulk, follow me." The blondes face hardened, and he followed wordlessly.

She could feel the tension before she even entered the lab. One of the many screens in the room, the one they were all surrounding, showed "PHASE TWO" and schematics for missiles. Missiles filled with glowing blue energy they all could doubtlessly recognize now.

"Did you know about this?" Banner asks the second her foot crosses the threshold.

She knew that there was a reason Fury wanted the Tesseract. And since they were a defense program, she wasn't entirely surprised; in fact she had suspected it was for weaponry. But WMD's were far from their jurisdiction, and completely immoral, but she could discuss this with the director in private. Now was not a time to cause a fault line in the structure.

"You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?"

"I was in Calcutta. I was pretty well removed," he spat.

"Loki's manipulating you."

"And you've been doing what, exactly?"

"You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you." She wanted to smack him, but that would really put a fault in the structure.

"Yes, and I'm not leaving because you suddenly get a little twitchy!" he turned to Fury, "I'd like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."

The Director gave him a stern look Natasha had seen many, many times. "Because of him," he said pointing to the blond God.

"Me?"

"Last year Earth had a visitor from another planted who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that not only are we alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously out gunned."

"My people want nothing but peace with your planet!" Thor protested

"But you're not the only people out there, are you?" Fury countered. "And you're not the only threat. The world's filling up with people who can't be matched, can't be controlled."

The air in the room was roiling with mistrust and anger. Natasha could feel the balance slipping, the tables turning, not just on Fury, but just end over end. The room was filled with chaos.

"Like you controlled the cube?" Steve said with crossed arms.

"Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it and his allies. It is a signal to all the realms that earth is ready for a higher form of war."

"A higher form?"

"You forced our hand. We had to come up with something!"

Tony piped in, "A nuclear deterrent, cause that always calms everything right down."

She wanted to smack all of them. Put them in Loki's cage and drop them all.

"Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?" The leather clad man quipped.

"I'm sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck deep—"

"Wait! Wait! Hold on, how is this now about me?" The billionaires jaw set.

"I'm sorry, isn't everything?"

Natasha had to hand it to the Captain, he could dish it out. She kept her mouth shut though, she knew she couldn't say anything to make it better, but they were losing control fast.

"I thought humans were more evolved than this," Thor lamented to himself.

"Excuse me," Fury mocked, "did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?"

Everyone was pointing and in defensive posture. She stood on the fringes, ready to fight. She didn't know who's side she was on. She'd probably choose whatever side Captain was on. He was a go getter, and she appreciated that.

"You speak of control, yet you court chaos!"

Banner's shoulders were tense, "It's his M.O., isn't it? I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no. We're a chemical mixture that makes chaos! We're…We're a time bomb!"

Natasha wanted to step in between and separate them all, but she didn't feel particularly like getting hit.

"You need to step away."

"Why shouldn't the guy let off a little steam," Tony said, clearly on Bruce's side.

"You know damn well why! Back off."

Stark puffed out his chest and aimed his anger at the captain, "I'm starting to want you to make me."

The machismo in the room was laughably palpable, she muttered, "just fuck already" under her breath.

"I'm starting to want you to make me."

"Seriously?" She said, still unheard.

"Yeah, but man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?"

"Genuis, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," he retorted.

She had to admit, as much as he annoyed her, Tony Stark had an impressive resume.

"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you," the blonde hero glared. "I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."

"I think I would just cut the wire," he shrugged.

"Always a way out. You know, you made not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."

"A hero," he laughed "like you? You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers! Everything special about you came out of a bottle."

"Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds."

She rolled her eyes. There was more testosterone than a wrestling teams locker room. They were really starting to piss her off.

"You people are so petty, and tiny!" Thor laughed like he was drunk.

"Yeah this is a te—"

"Agent Romanoff, would you escort Dr. Banner back to his—"

"Where? You're renting my room." he snorted cynically.

"The cell was just—"

"just in case you needed to kill me? But you cant! I know, I tried!"

Everything in the room stopped. Steve's face expressed stern concern and disapproval. Tony's looked shattered. Fury's look scared. Thor's confused. And Natasha, Natasha was utterly horrified. He had absolutely no control. This broken, angry man was so different than the man she'd talked with on the plane. She wanted to comfort him, but she was too afraid to move.

"I got low, I didn't see an end," he continued. "So I put a bullet in my mouth, and the other guy spit it out! So I moved on, I focused on helping other people. I was good until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk. You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?"

Natasha, Fury, and Thor's hands were all slowly creeping towards their weapons. Natasha wasn't planning on shooting him, she was planning on shooting herself. She knew he couldn't be killed, and she was the current focus of his rage. Tony's eyes were wide in horror. In Bruce's skilled hands, was the sharp, devious scepter. It clicked in Natasha's head at once, that this was all Loki's doing. This was his plan. She was going to fillet him alive.

Steve was the only one who still looked calm, "Dr. Banner, put down the scepter."

The tracking computer beeped. Banner hesitated for a moment, but put the weapon down and walked towards the computer. "Sorry, kids. You don't get to see my party trick after all," he said dryly.

"Located the Tesseract?"

"I can get there faster," Stark said valiantly.

"Look, all of us—"

"The Tesseract belongs on Asgard. No human is a match for it."

Tony was headed for the door, and the Captain grabbed at him, "You're not going alone!"

"You gonna stop me?"

"Put on the suit, let's find out."

"I'm not afraid to hit an old man," Stark quipped.

"Put on the suit."

Natasha can see the screen, at the same time as Bruce realizes something.

"Oh my god!"

It's here.

There's an explosion and the world is tilting, everyone is falling.

"Put on the suit!"

"Yep!"

"Romanoff, stay with Banner! Thor, make yourself useful! Banner stay here!" Fury shouted as he made his way off the floor and down to the bridge. Thor stalked off.

"Bruce, I'm so—"

Another explosion cut her off.

Her ribs hurt, her body was twisted uncomfortably, and her ears were ringing. There was a sharp pain in her leg. She could see Banner hunched on the ground.

"Doctor?" she called. "Bruce, you gotta fight it. This is just want Loki wants. We're going to be okay!"

She tries to pull her leg free. Some well-meaning deck crew make their way over to help, she frantically mouths "get the fuck out," as Bruce struggles with the other guy.

"We're going to be okay. Right?" She was trying to convince herself as much as him. "I swear on my life I will get you out of this," and she meant it, she liked Banner. "You will walk away, and never—"

"Your life?" the monster growled at her.

She struggled against the rubble harder as his form grows and twists. His skin bleeding into green. Bruce, the real Bruce looks at her sadly before turning away and continuing the unstoppable transformation.

"Bruce?"

She broke away from the rubble, her heart is pounding against her bruised ribs. She can feel her leg swelling already. She hears a roar of pure rage and the ground pounding. She can't help but look back and immediately regrets it.

She jumps down stairs, hoping he can't fit down the stair well. He smashes through it. She runs through passages, trying to escape. Trying to gain leverage. Trying to gain control. But Natasha Romanoff knows, this time, she's probably going to die. Loki is going to win. Clint is going to die. And the earth is going to be enslaved.

She pulls out her gun and shoots. Bullets simply bounce off him and ricochet around the room. She runs faster than she ever has in her life. There's glass shattering around her, her feet are slidding on the tempered pebbles, and he—it's gaining on her. An image of Clint flashes through her head, the moment from Budapest during their vows. Smiling, covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. Fingers wrapped around a bow string pulled back to his cheek. It was perfect. She didn't want to die with her bones puncturing her organs as the Hulk crushed her to a pulp. If she was going to die at all, she wanted to die next to Clint in battle. A warrior's death.

Her foot slipped on the broken glass, and she fell. This is it, she thought.

Suddenly a streak of red and blond was smashing into the green beast. And Natasha crawled away.

She had lost all control again. She'd been inches from death more times than she could count, but always, ALWAYS she had control. This time, this time she had none. She couldn't stop shaking. The face of the monster flashed in her eyes and she could hear the destruction from Thor and Hulk going at it. But she couldn't distance herself from it. She couldn't move.

She lost track of time. She heard all the comm chatter. Felt the ship going down. Heard the Hulk tearing through the ship. But she couldn't make herself move until, "It's Barton, he took our systems. He's headed for the detention lab. Does anybody copy?"

"This is Agent Romanoff. I copy." she stood on her swollen leg, and ran, once again straight at one of the few things that could kill her.

There he was. Unharmed. Looking more vicious than ever. Eyes the deadly blue of Loki's mind control. And now, pointing an arrow at her.

"Clint," she started, but was cut short by the small reflexes of his hand preparing to let go. She kicked him away. Her hand found her gun and she brought the butt of it down on his wrist. He countered and sent it flying. He pulled a knife from thin air and sliced at her. She blocked and dodged. He was fast, but she was faster, and more flexible. She ducked under him and swept his legs out. His head hit a bar. He fell to the floor on his knees, the knife clattered on the grid of the walkway.

The blue in his eyes flickered for a moment, "Natasha?"

She kicked him hard in the head. Harder than she wanted to. But it was her only hope.

"I'm sorry, Clint."


	14. Chapter 14

She wiped his brow free of sweat, again. His face twisted and contorted. He laughed manically before groaning in pain and drifting back out of consciousness.

"Clint, you're going to be alright."

"You know that?" he said through gritted teeth. "Is that what you know?" She put a soothing hand on his restrained arm. He felt hot to the touch, his muscles hard and strained. "I got…I gotta go in though. I gotta flush him out."

He struggled again. She wondered if this is what it was like, watching her struggle through all the brain washing, remaking, and reverting. His eyes darted around the room, looking for something that wasn't there.

"We don't have that long, it's going to take time."

"I—I don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and send something else in?" He took a shaky breath, "do you know what it's like to be unmade?"

"You know that I do."

He sipped the water she gave him. Here she was, taking care of him again when he almost just killed her. If Loki didn't kill him, surely the guilt would. "Why am I back? How did you get him out?"

"Cognitive recalibration," she said smoothly. His head hurt, he couldn't think through the words. She must have sensed this, because she added, "I hit you really hard in the head."

"Thanks."

She unbuckled the restraints, rubbing and moving his wrists where there were bruises from his struggles. Her hands felt soft and steady. He wanted more of her, to know every inch of her was unharmed. To kiss away the bruises he surely caused.

"Tasha…How many agents?"

"Don't," she said firmly. "Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

He sighed, "Loki, he got away?"

"Yeah, I don't suppose you know where?"

"I didn't need to know. I didn't ask. He's gonna make his play soon though. Today."

"We've got to stop him."

"Yeah? Who's we?" he said, the bitter undertones were apparent, but she wasn't going to let him give up.

"I don't know. Who's ever left."

"Well, if I put an arrow in his eye socket, I'd sleep better I suppose."

She smiled and kissed the back of his hand, "Now you sound like you."

"But you don't," his eyebrows furrowed. "You're a spy, not a solider. Now you want to wade into war? Why? What did Loki do to you?"

"He didn't—I just…" she looked away, trying to avoid an answer, or trying to find one. He wasn't sure.

"Natasha," he threaded his fingers through hers.

"I've been compromised," she said steadily, as if the words were heavy and unbalanced. "I got red in my ledger; I'd like to wipe it out."

He looked at her. To anyone but him, she was a battle hardened woman who'd seen a particularly bad day, but he could see past that. The way she clung to his hand, but still couldn't bring herself to touch him anymore. The way her eyes jumped and her muscles twitched at ever pop and groan of the ship. She'd lost control of the one thing she felt safe with: him. And they both knew that Loki's control over him wasn't just going to go away without a trace. There would be scars, lasting effects. He could still hurt her. But there was something else, something he didn't know about.

He reached up and brushed away a lock of hair falling over her face, "What happened to you, Tash?"

"I told you, I've been co—"

"No. What _happened?_"

She sighed, she if there was one thing she knew she could be certain about, it was Clint's stubbornness. She'd have to tell him eventually, or he'd learn during debriefing. "Loki wanted to—Banner—well the Hulk..." She shivered a little, he stroked her back, "Every time I've been about to die, I've had control. Even when you were about to kill me, it was my actions that decided. But there's no reasoning with the Hulk, no outsmarting, no out maneuvering. Just his anger towards you. He was so close, Clint," she looked at him, her eyes were a torrent of fear and frustration, "I could feel the air from the swipes of his hands."

She let out one choked sob before she tried to, unsuccessfully, steady her breathing and stop the tears. He brushed them away, "you're here, Nat. you beat him, and you got away. You saved me. You escaped him. You escaped Loki. Shhh," he kissed her forehead gently. She flinched at the contact.

"Sorry," she apologized when she saw the despair in her partner's eyes at the reaction. But he understood. She knew better than anyone what could be lurking in his mind, fresh out of the clutches of mind control.

"It's alright, the only thing in here is me." He smiled softly and pretended to rap on his head like a door, "Knock, knock anyone home? Hello, Mr. Barton we'd like to—Fuck off, you bastards. Can't you read the 'No Soliciting or Mind Control' sign? Get out of here before I use you for target practice." She smiled a little, and he kissed her forehead again. "I give you full permission to smash my gourd again if I Loki-out."

"I don't want to have to though."

"I know, and you won't. With you here, I can fight anything."

"That was stupid," she smiled.

"I know," he smiled back, "but it's true."

"I should kick your ass, Barton."

"Why's that, Mrs. Barton?"

"Worrying me, making me feel like a real girl, being so repulsively romantic."

"So I get a pass for almost killing you?" he said, crestfallen.

"We went over this," she picked up his hand, bringing it to the exposed skin of her collarbone, "I'm okay. You beat him. I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me," she slipped his hand under her suit, placing it above her heart. He could feel it beating strongly. He looked at her eyes, there was something he rarely saw in them, softness. "I'm faster, but you're stronger. You could have beaten me, Clint. You didn't."

"The last thing I remember is him asking about you, and fighting against it so hard I blacked out," he pulled his hand away. "I don't remember that."

"You and I both know that you don't just give up. Shit, you could probably kill half a special ops team in your sleep."

He shrugged.

"You beat him off. You saved me, and look," she turned his face towards hers, "I'm alright."

He gave her a look, trying to point out the fact that less than ten minutes ago she too had been telling him of her compromising feelings. She let out a small laugh.

"Well okay, I'm kind of alright. We'll get there. But you didn't hurt me, you wont hurt me, you would never hurt me."

His hand slowly reached up and pulled the zipper of her jacket down until the jacket cleaved in two. His hand gently slid up her soft ribs resting under the curve of her simple black bra. There was a deep bruise forming there, "I did that though, didn't I?"

"Loki did that." She shrugged the jacket off her shoulders; his hand traced a mark on her arm, "You didn't do these things, Loki did these things."

"He was using me though!"

"Exactly, Clint!" she stood up abruptly, standing in front of him. Her belt slung low on her broad hips, her black leather pants hugging them so deliciously close. The deep V of her bra holding her breasts firmly in place. If he hadn't been so upset, he'd have ripped the rest of her clothes off. Instead she reached to unzip his vest. "He did everything, you are responsible for nothing. He can't hurt you or me anymore." She pushed it off his shoulders, "we're here now, and everything is okay. We're together again. Fuck Loki, fuck Fury, fuck New Mexico, and fuck 'indefinite.' We're back, it's okay, Clint." She kissed him gently, her fingers worked their way under his shirt and she pushed it up his torso, he helped her pull it over his head. "Remember, for better or for worse, till death do us part, all that shit? Remember, Clint?"

"I remember, Tasha," he sighed.

She stood back and unclicked her custom buckle, it fell away and she undid the buttons and zipper of her pants. He wondered how something so tight could possibly just slide off of her like they did.

"There are many things you do to me," she said as she straddled his lap, she picked up his left hand and put it on her hip, the other she slid between her thighs so he could feel the wet heat emanating from her. "Hurting me is note one of them." His thumb on her hip hooked under the thin strap of her panties, "Remember this?"

"I remember," he said, he kissed her softly.

"Good."

She kissed down his neck, across the bruises she'd put there. And some she hadn't. They were deep and older. Her fingers traced them gently. She kissed each one. He thought his brain would cease functioning as she undid his zipper with her teeth. She pulled his half hard cock out his pants and smiled at him ruefully before taking it in her mouth.

He let out a low moan, his hands threaded through her silky hair as she worked him. He wanted more, he hadn't even let himself imagine her like this the whole time they were apart. He wanted more of her. "Please, Nat," he begged. She pulled off of him with a pop, artfully licking her lips tidy. He pulled her close, tasting himself on her mouth. She pushed him back on the bed gently, crawling on top and positioning herself in a fluid movement. He slid into her, eliciting a gasp from each of them.

It was full of need and passion. Hands grasped at every inch of each other, making sure they were still real, still alive. Mouths hungry on hot skin. They knew the rooms weren't sound proof. Clint had a perfect dental impression of her teeth and he was sure a perfect sound wave of her moan etched into his shoulder bone by the time they both came.

She cleaned herself up first, before ushering him off to the bathroom, "we have to get back out there."

She cracked the door, hoping to not leave the room smelling of sex. She was lost in thought when Steve popped into the doorway looking a little frantic.

"Time to go!"

"Go where?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?"

The bathroom door opened, and Steve's body tightened as Clint entered the room, "I can."

She looked to the Captain, yes, she nodded, he was on their team. He nodded back, he trusted her.

"You got a suit?"

"Yeah."

"Then suit up."


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's note:** back onto original events! Don't worry, the Red Room story line will get resolved. All in due time, my lovelies._

* * *

He watched her eyelids twitch in the throws on REM. He wanted to brush the locks of red out of the way for a better view, but she looked too perfect to disturb. And after everything that had happened, she deserved the rest.

After Thor shipped Loki back to Asgard, and Fury had let the team disperse to their various getaways, the couple made their way back to their secret home. It felt like coming home, really. All the times he'd been away from various apartments and safe houses coming back just felt like opening a new, single use, sterile box. Like a familiar hotel. But never home.

This felt like home. They'd come home from debriefing to dusty sunlight pouring through the wooden shutters, a fine layer of dust settled on the counters and table tops, and the warm smell of wood and cotton. Natasha set to dusting and wiping down the windows and sent Clint to the grocery store.

"This is how you're going to start our vacation?"

"We just leveled most of Manhattan Island, I just want a little order and cleanliness. Also spaghetti."

She turned back to her work, opening up the house and letting the breeze flow through the house. He just watched her for a moment. She looked so natural like that; dusting, humming some old song to herself, barefoot, jeans and a tshirt. She looked as comfortable and in place here as she did on the battlefield. He couldn't decide if it was scary or beautiful, so he went to the store.

After dinner he swept her up in his arms, and they made love gently and slowly. Something that was a first for both of them, taking their time, letting things build and build until the climax was so tantalizingly steep when they tipped over the edge they thought they'd never come down. With all the chaos and the pain and destruction, though they were made for it, sometimes they just needed a little delicacy. Especially now. Their minds both on the mend, fragile, scarred, and on the razors edge of dangerous.

She was healing. Her nightmares seemed to come less often and less terrifying. But she had become over cautious, almost obsessive about checking door locks, running back ground checks, checking the security system, and counting weapons and ammo in the house. She was waiting for the Red Room to come back, waiting for them to find her. He could see the determination in her eyes as she counted rounds and clips, she couldn't hide forever and she knew it. But it weighed on her, waiting to die. He could see it in the circles under her eyes and her bleeding cuticles. Feel the tension in her shoulders at night when he held her.

He was breaking. His nightmares increased. Every night he woke in a cold sweat, hands fisted in the sheets, fitting off Loki again. And he'd begun the unsettling habit of sleep walking. If Natasha had noticed, and surely she had, she didn't say anything. Sometimes he'd wake up in his work shop, or the kitchen, just slumped against things. More than a couple times he had woken up standing on the edge of the balcony, or hovering over a sleeping Natasha. This scared him. When this happened he dreamed of Loki's voice in his head, the pied piper leading the way. Whispering in that seductive voice, "Do it." Clint wouldn't have to ask what to do, he knew what to do. Nights he fought hard against it, he ended up on the balcony. Nights he didn't, he woke up standing over his sleeping wife, teeth grinding and hands in tight fists.

He stopped sleeping. Went out to the workshop instead.

"You have to sleep, Clint."

"I'll be inside in a bit, I just want to work a little more."

"You said that last night."

"Did I?" he asked, knowing full well she was telling the truth. He was too tired to deal with this. He worked on sanding the bow arc smooth.

"Is this about Loki and the sleep walking?"

"Just can't sleep, Tash."

"We'll figure something out, come on. Please come to bed, Clint."

"What if I kill you?" he asked tightly, "How am I supposed to live with myself?"

She sighed, "you're not going to kill me."

"I dream about it. I can hear him, feel him telling me what to do."

"We can ask Fury for help," she took a step towards him and reached for his hand. He pulled it away and turned back to his work.

"Fury can't help me. Just go to sleep, Natasha."

She left.

She'd wake up in the mornings to breakfast on the table, but Clint no where in sight. He stayed away. She'd coax him out of the workshop some nights to watch a movie, even get him to come to bed. but he'd sneak out back to his loft in the shop and sleep there. One morning after a few weeks of hide and seek he woke up to "We need to talk," carved into his workshop table.

He stomped into the house, "what the FUCK, NATASHA!"

She was seated in a padded rocking chair, gently pushing herself to and fro with her foot, reading some philosophy book, "What the hell is your problem?" she said without looking up.

"You ruined my fucking workbench, that's my problem."

"Make a new one."

"I would if I had _another fucking workbench to work on_."

"Not my problem, Clint."

"No? What is your fucking problem, Nat? Jesus Christ!"

"I'd just like to spend some time with my fucking husband without him getting all moody and stalking off to wank and brood in his workshop. Have a nice dinner with him instead of leaving him a plate outside the back door like a fucking dog," she spoke in a clipped tone without looking up from her book, which pissed Clint off exponentially. "I'd just like to work things out, and help him. But he won't fucking let me. I can't even touch you without you pulling away."

"I gave you your space and time, why can't you give me mine?"

Her book snapped shut, "That was different!"

"Yeah, you're right. Because this doesn't get better, Natasha! It just keeps going. There is no escaping this, escaping him. I am going to want to kill you for the rest of my life."

"Clint, I can help you. I've been through this, we've been through worse."

"What are you going to hit me in the head again?" he threw his hands up in frustration, "this is so fucking pointless."

"it's fucking pointless to soak in your misery, refusing help, refusing to try to get better, and just submitting to Loki and your fear of losing to him, Clint. I am you fucking partner, I am your fucking wife, the only person you submit to is me, and I'm pretty sure asking you to get your shit together is a reasonable fucking request."

He didn't say anything, just stood there, glaring at her.

"All the times I've been compromised, even when you found me and didn't know me, you didn't leave my side until we figured it out. Until you got me back. I vowed to do whatever it takes to get you back if you've been compromised. And I searched the globe for you, but you're not all here. We've still got work to do," she reached forward and took his hand. "Clint, please. I don't want to force you to get help. You don't have to fight me."

"But something in the back of my mind, this cold, scratching voice is telling me to."

"We'll figure something out, okay? We've been through worse."

"No we haven't. I hardly know who I am and hear voices, and you've become paranoid because you're being hunted by the Russian government who wont stop until you're dead. I'm pretty sure this is as bad as it gets, Tasha."

"I'm pretty sure we just took out an entire fleet of alien warships and troops and defeated a god. We've done the impossible before, it's our job. It's practically our hobby."

"Fine. Whatever," he fake bowed to her, a bitter look on his face, "I submit to you, oh mighty Natasha."

"Cut the shit, Clint. I'm trying to help you."

His face broke, "I know, I'm sorry," he said softly.

"We'll figure it out, okay?"

He nodded solemnly. She reached out to hug him, just holding him and breathing in the scent of his workshop and his sweat. He held her back. It was the only softness and comfort he'd allowed himself to feel in weeks. He pressed his face into her hair and closed his eyes, "Will you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"If we can't get him out, if I still pose a threat to you, kill me. Please."

"Clint—"

"Please."

"Okay."


	16. Chapter 16

"If it isn't Charlotte and Tweety Bird," Tony mused as the elevator doors opened.

"Cram it, Stark," Clint responded. He was tired, he didn't want to be here, and normally he wouldn't mind Tony's humor, but right now he wanted to punch him in his smug, expertly shaved face.

"Tony, why don't you go to your lab?" Bruce appeared, putting a hand on the billionaire back. "Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barton and I have some private business to take care of." Natasha reminded herself to thank him for not letting the secret slip with "mrs."

"Whatever you say, big guy. But you're going to make it up to me later, right?" He grinned wolfishly and winked.

Bruce smirked a little,"Yes, Tony. Now go."

Tony looked at Natasha fiercely, "Don't accidently assassinate anyone while I'm gone." He added a charming smile and left.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "Pepper left?"

"Yeah, things kind of…exploded. She ran off with Happy."

"Yikes," Clint commented, looking around at the newly rebuilt floor, entirely Bruces.

"So you two-?"

"Yeah. It just…"

"You don't have to explain it to us, as long as your happy," Natasha smiled and patted the scientist's shoulder.

"I am, thank you," he smiled back.

"So can we get to this shit already, I need a nap," Clint grumbled as he examined an iron tea pot on the counter.

Bruce led them to his personal lab. He and Tony had a shared lab that took up an entire floor, but they also both had personal labs on their own floors. Natasha let out and impressed whistle.

"I lied, S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't have all the toys, you do."

"Pretty neat, huh?"

He led Clint to what looked like a normal MRI machine.

"I had an MRI and a CT scan during debriefing."

"I know, I had Tony get me the files," he proceeded to pull them up in midair, he smiled as he did it, still finding Tony's tech incredibly cool. "This isn't a normal scanner, it's modified to look for radiation signatures in soft tissue. Distinct stuff, like—"

"Gamma radiation?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah, I've been working on some serums to control the other guy a little better, as well as just some medical tech in my spare time. But if Loki was using the same power as the Tesseract to control Clint, if any trace of it is still there, we'll find it."

Clint changed into sweats, and both Natasha and Bruce admired the sight of the shirtless archer. He laid on the table and gave his wife a feeble smile of reassurance. She kissed his forehead. "What about Bruce?"

"He knows."

"How come I can't tell Coulson, but you can tell Bruce?"

"Now we both have a confidant. Now shut up and lay still."

She went back to the array of computers where Bruce stood typing in commands. Clint slid back into the large tube and it whirred to life. He hated loud noises and tensed up as the machinery pounded around him. He was used to MRI's and the like, but he could never really relax during them. He was always afraid they'd reveal some career ending injury. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't shoot, or didn't pass S.H.I.E.L.D.'s requirements. He couldn't go back to working for the underground, not after he'd put half of them in prison and killed scores of them. He didn't want to become a bitter, drunken man like his father had become, just sitting around waiting for his liver to fail. He didn't know what to do. What he could do.

"Just hold tight, Clint. We're almost done," Bruce's smooth voice came on through the headset, above the noise.

He closed his eyes and thought of Natasha. He missed her. He didn't want to stay away from her. He just didn't want to hurt her. He felt like he hadn't touched her in weeks. He thought about it, he really hadn't, not since they'd gotten back from sending Loki back. She'd come out of the shower this morning, he was sitting on the bed tying his shoes. She walked up to him, he could smell the hot water and the scent of her body wash. She dropped the towel, standing mere inches from him. She'd asked him to touch her, reached for his hand to bring it to her naked hip, but he pulled it away, "I can't." she sighed and swore under her breath as she got dressed.

The table slid him out to a waiting Bruce and Natasha. She held out a hand to help him sit up, but he didn't take it. He did take the hoodie she offered him though, zipping it up as Bruce ordered JARVIS to bring up the scan pictures. He flipped through the full body pictures, before narrowing in on Clint's head. The blood vessels had a faint blue tinge to them, he felt like he was going to throw up.

"Is that-?"

"Highlighted to show the radiation, the coloration means it's like we hypothesized, it's the same as the Tesseract."

"Fucking wonderful," Clint moaned. He walked away, he needed to hit something.

"What can we do about it? Loki can't possibly be in control, can he?"

"We can call Thor and ask, but I doubt even Loki's powers could extend this far. JARVIS, please call Thor Odinson."

"When did he get back?"

Behind them something smashed as Clint finally decided to hit something. Natasha shot Bruce an apologetic look but didn't stop him.

"Don't worry about it. About a two weeks ago he—"

"Hello Doctor Banner!" the voice boomed.

"Hey Thor. I've got a question about Loki's mind control, I'm trying to help Barton."

"Ahh, the noble archer! How is he fairing?"

As if on cue, something else crashed behind them.

"Uh, he's alright. We found some radiation that matches the signature of the Tesseract in his system. Not a whole lot, but he's been having nightmares and is convinced Loki still could have power over him."

"You wish to know if that is possible?"

"Yeah, could Loki's power reach this far?"

"No, only my father, Odin's power is enough to breach the realms without actually entering them. Loki has been locked away in a place where no magic, save that of Odin's can breach. He is powerless during his punishment."

"Do you know of any reason why there could be traces of power left in him?"

"I suppose it is similar to a sickness. It does not leave all at once, the power of the Tesseract. Like a human virus, it lingers. So in a way though Loki is not present or controlling him, echoes of his power are still there."

"Is there any way we can speed up the recovery or flush it out, or is it there forever?" Natasha asked.

"Is that Lady Romanoff? Greetings upon you! My lady Jane is much impressed by your heroics. As is my friend in arms, Sif. Both would like court with you!"

"Tell Jane and Sif I said thank you and it would be my pleasure once I take care of everything with Clint."

"I shall relay the message! And only something similar to the Tesseract's power could, as you say, flush it out. There is no telling how long it could last. Tesseract sickness has been afflicting users of the power since it was forged, but some it passes by quickly, others it drives to their graves."

"fucking great," came from the direction of another crashing sound.

"We'll figure something out, Thank's Thor!"

"Goodbye Doctor, Goodbye Lady Romanoff!"

Thor hung up and Natasha and Bruce sat musing for a couple minutes as Clint continued to pace and break things.

"Sorry about him."

"I don't really blame him."

"Got any ideas, doc?"

"You're not going to like it."

"There are never any good options, just options that are slightly less horrible than the others."

He nodded in reluctant understanding. "The only thing that has similar power to the Tesseract is another type of radiation, similar to Gamma. Similar to the stuff used to make Cap. And…The Other Guy."

She looked at Clint. Bruce could see the nervousness, the fatigue, the frustration in her blue eyes. He'd hug her if she'd been the hugging type, but even though she liked him, he surly risked a broken nose for it. "What are the side effects?"

"Well, I can't give him straight Gamma, it would kill him. We'd have to give him a high dose of Beta radiation. A very high dose."

"Spit it out."

The elevator dinged and Tony stepped off, "It means he'll have advanced radiation sickness."

"Were you fucking listening?" She wanted to throw something at him, luckily Clint did for her. A stress ball hit him perfectly in the side of the head, knocking him off balance and making him spill his coffee.

"HEY! WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!" the billionaire rubbed the side of his head and frowned. Natasha smirked, Clint paced, and Bruce hid a smile.

"Tony this is private."

"But I can help!"

"That doesn't give you a right to put your nose where it doesn't belong," Bruce said.

Tony's face grew red, "Fine then!" he turned on his heel to leave.

"Stop whining, Stark and tell us what you came down here for. You're just going to do it anyways," Natasha said, her arms crossed, still more than a little cross at the man.

"You know me so well."

"Unfortunately."

"Luckily with Brucey-kin's experimenting here, I've figured out a pretty damn good radiation scrubbing system. Beats out SHIELD's. Fury let me compare," he said proudly.

"What's the catch?"

"He's still going to get sicker than hell."

"But?"

"But it wont kill him. He'll get burns similar to bad sunburn, and probably lose his hair, also he'll incur some organ damage."

"Sounds like a fucking blast," Clint commented from the back of the room before punching a water cooler off its stand. A robot had been following around cleaning up his mess, it seemed to sigh at this and called for another robot which appeared seemingly from nowhere.

"Will this all work? Will it push out the Tesseract power?"

"We wont know for sure until we try, Natasha."

"It's not like it can get much worse," Tony smiled. She shot him a death glare. "It'll be okay. We'll look after him. He can stay in the medical wing. I did build you both your own floors, but I guess you might want to share?" He winked.

"Oh great, you know?"

"Oh come on, it's not like the whole fucking world can't tell you two aren't carrying the torch for each other. You might as well just get married."

Bruce let out a small laugh, Natasha turned her glare to him.

"Its personal business and it's private, Tony. I would prefer to keep it that way. We'll keep our own separate floors, but could you put a stair well in between them."

"Can I put a fireman's pole too?"

"Yes, but if you ever ask either of us to strip on it, I will literally kill you."

"Fair enough. Off to work!"

He scrambled off, already mapping things out with JARVIS.

"I'll get to work making treatment preparations," Bruce said before walking off, giving Natasha a reassuring clasp on the shoulder.

She walked over to Clint who was staring out of the large glass wall. She leaned beside him back on the glass, leaning over oblivion. He wouldn't look at her.

"So you know the plan?"

"Poison me to get rid of the poison. Sound's real effective."

"Better than nothing."

"You could just kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you."

"You promised."

"I said if there was no other way."

"So if this doesn't work?"

"We'll try something else."

"Why wont you just kill me?"

"You know why," she searched his face. His eyes were hard and sad. He looked as if the whole weight of the world had settled into the lines on his face. Like each whisker on his stubbled chin weighed a thousand pounds.

He looked at her; she could have drowned in the sadness his gaze bestowed upon her, "I'm sorry."

She reached out to hold his limp hand, his fingers laced through hers like it was a lifeline, "Save your sorrow, it'll be okay."

He looked back out the window, "Will you go get me some stuff from home? I want to…Get settled in or something."

He probably meant go down to the gym and punch something till he passed out, but never the less. "Sure." She kissed his cheek and she was gone.

He stared out the window. The blue sky looked like the blue on the scans. He resented the lovely day.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Author's Note: **This chapter has medical talk that I mostly made up because research is for people who don't have to get up and go to work in the morning. There is also brief mention of soft-core drug use, and masturbation. This chapter is mostly what Clint is going through with the procedure. Also for those wondering about the brief hint of Bruce/Tony's relationship in the previous chapter, they're a couple in my world, but its not really part of the story and wont be, so no need to worry. Stay tuned to find out if it works, what Natasha is going through, and eventually solving the Red Room/Natasha storyline! Enjoy! Your wonderful reviews mean so much to me, thank you!_

* * *

The warm hands poked and prodded him, he followed the commands the familiar but far away voice gave him. Breathe in, breathe out. Cough. Follow my pen. Touch your finger to your nose.

"Do you have any questions before we start?" Bruce asked, it took a moment for Clint to register the question.

"Is it confidential, or are you going to tell Natasha?"

"Of course it's confidential, only if you want me to tell her will she know. Unless she can hack Tony's computer system." Clint gave him an unsure look. "She can't, I promise. I can't even."

The archer sighed. He looked down at his bare arms and legs, the muscles there are going to start withering quickly, the doctor said. He ran his hand nervously through his hair, that will probably be gone soon too they'd said. He'd taken a long run this morning, not knowing when the next opportunity would be. "You said there would be organ damage?"

"Some, but between SHIELD's advanced healing tech and Tony's radiation bio-scrubbing system, there shouldn't be much, if any, that will actually effect you long term."

He looked down at his boxer briefs, shabby grey. He didn't feel the need to wear nice boxers to get a physical, "What about my uh…_huevos_?"

"There will be a likely possibility of complete sterilization, but I noticed a vasectomy scar while I was uh, down there. So I figured it wasn't really an issue, I should have brought it up anyways though, apologies."

"It's alright." Sometimes he forgot he'd gotten one. He wouldn't be surprised if Natasha had noticed the tiny scar sometime in the last six months. She'd never said anything to him. He knew about her IUD, but he'd kept his vasectomy to himself. He'd gotten it around the time she came to SHIELD, before his big series of flings. He'd never wanted children, he liked his job too much, didn't want to be the kind of parent his father had been, didn't want to leave an orphan. With a vasectomy he didn't have to worry about that. And nowadays almost anything could be reversed, even that if he decidedly changed his mind. But Natasha made him think differently. He never regretted before he was with her, any time a condom broke or he forgot one, the only thing he'd have to work about was STI's, and at that point he was to reckless to really care much. But then Natasha. The way she'd cradled that child against her, against the bullets in Budapest. The way she hummed as she did housework. The way she made him pancakes for dinner when he was sad. He'd catch himself thinking about the way her stomach would look heavy with child as she balanced a weapon she was cleaning on top of the pronounced bump. Or about how the southwest facing guest bedroom, looking over the fields and forests behind them would be perfect for a nursery. Something to give them a reason to stop throwing themselves into the most dangerous things. A loveable insurance plan. But Natasha would never allow herself to dream like that. He knew it was near the top of her list of fears. "Is there any way we could, uh, you know, save some? Just in case…"

"well with the vasectomy it'll be kind of invasive and not that comfortable, since we'll have to extract mature sperm from your vas deferens."

"It's not like this whole thing can really get more uncomfortable or worse, Bruce."

The doctor looked away guiltily, "yeah, I'm really sorry."

"No, I'm being an asshole. Thank you, man. Really. It's just scary I guess. Knowing you'll become a shell of yourself, something weaker and more defenseless than you've ever been. Just to fix yourself. And it might not even work."

"We'll find something, Clint. And you know the team is here for you. Steve said he'd start coming by to help you with physical therapy if you want. I know you probably want Nata—"

"No, I want Steve. I love Nat, don't get me wrong. But this is hard enough on her, and this hasn't really been a positive stroke in our marriage, things have been a little rocky lately. I don't want to burden her with trying to fix me completely. Besides, Steve is a cool guy."

"She seemed a little…Off. Hopefully fixing this will help."

"I just can't go near her."

Bruce sat down, he was turning out to be many kinds of doctors. He wasn't a therapist, but he was a good listener. Clint realized he never really had a chance to talk to anyone. And now Coulson was retired with no contact allowed, so he really had no one. "Why not?"

"I'm afraid I'll hurt her. You know about the nightmares and stuff?" the dark haired man nodded. "They're just Loki's voice, telling me to do horrible things. Sometimes it's telling me to hurt her in ways and make me sick to my stomach to even think about, let alone think about happening to someone I love. I couldn't live with myself if I let anything happen to her, if I did anything to her."

"But you can overcome these urges; you've been doing it for weeks."

"But what if I can't? What if I stop being able to? As long as that snake is in my brainpan writhing around, I pose a risk to Natasha, and that's not a chance I'm willing to take." He looked determined, he looked mad, he looked desperate.

"Clint, we'll get through this okay. I know we're not real close or anything, any of us, but we're all here for you. I mean did you see the get well present Thor sent you?"

"I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do with a whole hog carcass," he laughed.

"Hell if I know! Roast it maybe? The gesture was nice," he laughed back.

"It was. Thor's a good man. Got some family issues, but don't we all."

"And Tony is more than happy to help with treatment, as am I. and Steve is going to help with recovery. Natasha and I are actually pretty close friends," a look of disbelief and mild panic struck his patient's face "don't worry, I'll keep your secrets to myself," he smiled. "Thor is bringing Jane with him back to New York, I know she's not really a girly girl, but it might be nice to have real female company. Even Fury and Hill have reached out to her. Neither of you are alone, we're all here for you. I said before, you weren't there, but I said that we were closer to a time bomb than a team, but after Loki and the Chitauri, we're more like a family. An over powered family filled with egomaniacs, but a family none the less. If it were Tony, or even Jane, we'd all be there for whoever. I know you an Natasha live in kind of your own little world, I definitely understand, but you're never without support."

"God I'm going to get misty eyed if you keep talking, doc," he teased, a genuine smile spread across his face. "But thank you. I appreciate it, and I know Nat does too. But you know what also family does?"

"Hmm?"

"Share some of their big bag of weed after I get dosed with a fuck-ton of radiation," he chuckled.

Bruce laughed too, "fair enough. Tony and I have some medical strains we grow for ourselves."

"Fury doesn't care?"

"As long as we only do it on scheduled no mission down time, he couldn't care less."

"You guys really do have all the best stuff."

"We try," Bruce shrugged.

"Well thank you in advance."

"Not a problem."

There was an awkward lull, but Clint felt a little more at ease.

"So should we get the semen sample from you? We can cryogenically freeze it on site here. Should you ever need or want it, it'll be good as new."

"Yeah, sure. What's the procedure?"

The doctor let out a small nervous laugh, "Well it's going to be more than a little awkward, and a good portion uncomfortable."

"Right, right. Went over that. What do I have to do?"

"Get yourself almost to completion, then I come in with an ultrasound, localized anesthetic, and a syringe."

"YOU'RE GOING TO STICK A NEEDLE IN MY—"

"No! No," Bruce stood up and pointed to a spot low on his torso, near the joint of his hip and pelvis, "vas deferens are the equivilant to a woman's fallopian tubes, instead of carrying the egg to the uterus, they carry the sperm and seminal fluid to the penis. Since you had a vasectomy, the vas deferens was clipped and cauterized, so instead of going out of the body, they just kind of hang out in there and dissolve, they clip it before the prostate though, which is why you still have ejaculate, its seminal fluid without sperm."

"Bodies are weird."

"But pretty amazing. Anyways, it'll just feel like a pressure and a pinch, it wont hurt. Having a needle that close to your junk when you just want to come isn't anyone's idea of fun though."

"I'll say," he huffed. "But yeah. So uh, should I just, uh, text you when I'm close?"

Bruce laughed, "Yeah, I suppose that way I can go get the stuff and not awkwardly wait outside the door. Do you uh, need anything?"

The archer blushed, "Uh, no I'm good. And please don't tell Nat, about the saving semen thing nor about the having another man with his hands on me so near to completion."

"It'll be our little secret awkward medical procedure. Really, its not a big deal to me. I'm a doctor."

"Well I'm not," he laughed awkwardly.

"Right, we'll just text me!" the doctor called out as he left.

Clint sat alone in the exam room. It was like any other exam room he'd ever been in his life. Plenty at SHIELD and Marine bases. He'd never had to masturbate in one. If he had a bucket list, he could cross this off the list he guessed.

Right, I'm supposed to be masturbating he reminded himself. Somehow trying to force it was harder than he'd thought it would be. Maybe he could call Natasha. No, because then she'd ask questions. Natasha. Beautiful, perfect Natasha. Those lips, those hips, those hands. The way she bit her lip when she was turned on, her clear blue eyes clouded with lust and need. He grabbed a bottle of lotion on the desk and slicked his hand before he began to stroke. He missed the feel of her pale skin under his finger tips. No matter how long she spent in the sun, she was a perfect shade of ivory everywhere. She had a freckle right above her public bone, he'd kiss it on his way down to taste her. He missed the scent of her arousal, the taste of her wet in his mouth, the feel of her fleshy hips bucking back into his hands, hips, and mouth. It had only been six weeks, but any time without Natasha felt like years. Especially how things had gotten so tense between them. He wanted to fuck the tension away. Hot, angry, rough sex until they were both sore and bruised. He wanted to kiss the bruises on her thighs the next morning. To feel her soothing kisses on the rope burn on his wrists, it was almost better than being tied up as she rode him, letting the tension in both of them build to almost unbearable heights.

Speaking of tension.

He wiped his hand off on the sheet and texted Bruce, "time to come back (no pun intended)," before covering himself up. He looked at the comically pitched sheet over his dick, stained with lotion and precum. He held himself down to make himself feel a little less awkward, truthfully he just wanted to cum now. There was a knock on the door. "Come in."

The doctor wheeled a small portable ultrasound in, the tray attached held a long needle, a vacuum tube, and a small syringe of what looked to be pain killers. "You can keep the sheet over your member, but I need access to pretty much everything else, just hold your penis out of the way please," he said as if he were ordering coffee.

"I—uh-yeah—yeah, okay." He did as he was commended, but looked at the wall, trying to study the generic picture of central park closely as to avoid eye contact. There was pressure as the warm, goop covered ultrasound wand searched for their target. He felt the cool wetness of an alcohol swab and a small pinch before he felt nothing in his hip and pelvis at all. Cumming is going to be really boring now, was the only thought pushing through his head as he focused really intently on the ducks in the pond in the picture.

"Deep breath," Bruce prompted, "Now exhale." On the exhale he felt a deep reaching pinch and an unpleasant twitch in his cock, which had begun deflating. He wasn't even going to get to cum, great. There was a vague tugging sensation. "All done!" Could he finish now? "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"Less weird than I expected."

"It usually is. I'll let you get cleaned up, label this, and put this in the freezer. When you're done, just meet me in the radio-ward and we'll start your first round of treatment. You know how to get there?"

"Yeah," he was impatient to get back to his thoughts of Natasha. Just the idea of her had the blood flowing again.

"okay!" the door clicked shut.

He rapidly stroked, replaying the memory of his red headed wife moaning his name. The pressure rebuilding in his belly. He peaked with his head thrown back on the hospital pillow as he panted out her name like a mantra.

He cleaned himself up, put on the sweats that would have to be tossed out in mere hours, contaminated (actually Tony wanted to test de-radating fabrics, so they'd be of use still, just not to Clint), and zipped up his favorite hoodie. He wasn't wearing shoes. He hated shoes. They were still in Avengers (formerly Stark) Tower, so he thought it pointless. He shut off the light in the room as some of the fleet of robots whirred down the hall to begin cleaning and sterilizing the room. He turned the corner to begin going to the radio-ward, where they housed the radioactive experiments and equipment. He was an experiment. Natasha was leaned against the wall. She smiled sadly at him, "hey."

He grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. The first time he'd kissed her like that in a long time. He could feel the surprise in her features, but she kissed back. He smiled into the kiss, "hello." After the kiss broke, he reached down to hold her hand, "are you coming with me?"

"Till the very end."


	18. Chapter 18

The instinct to catch his falling body was almost too much to override, the instinct to punch Bruce and Tony when they held her back was even harder.

"Not without a suit, Natasha. He's so radioactive he might as well glow," his voice was solemn as they watched the figure struggle to pick himself off the floor. "Clint," Bruce spoke into the mic, "do you need help getting to the contamination shower?"

"Got it," the weak voice rasped out. He finally got to his feet and stumbled over to the shower. His head hurt, his whole body felt sunburned and raw, and his muscles were already starting to lose their firmness, he wasn't happy at all. He didn't care enough to pull the heavy plastic curtain, he just held onto it for support as he stripped the little clothing he had on before putting it down the lead lined laundry chute to some hidden hazardous materials disposal room. Avengers Tower really did have everything. He pulled the heavy cord to start the warm water, and let it flow over his body.

It might have just been in his head, but every time he'd gotten into the contamination shower he felt like he could feel the radioactivity wash away. Like a thick layer of grime covering his whole body in a dust cloud, it started to melt away under the steady water. It might have just been in his head, but he felt like the water coming off of him had a strange glowing blue tinge to it. Bruce said it was just a side effect of the medications and the stress, and it might have just been in Clint's head that Clint didn't really believe him. His head felt fried; his eyes too heavy for his sockets, his hair brittle and dry like grass in a drought, his brain felt sluggish, and it constantly pounded dully.

The automatic water shut off. His body felt stiff and raw, but the haziness of radiation was gone, or the water would still be on. He dressed in new clothes and walked through the Geiger counter arch to make sure he was at a safe level to leave the contamination room. He looked at the comically cartoonish device in the corner of the room, see you on Tuesday he sighed. Every other day he stood in front of it as it bombarded him with radiation. This had been the fourth treatment. Now it was off to Tony's system to filter the irradiated blood out of him and replace it with heavily medicated, non-irradiated blood and plasma. Almost like a specialized dialysis machine. It was tiring. He was tired.

She was at his side the second the pressure locks hissed open, arm around him to help support his weak legs. He winced, her arm scraped the thin fabric of his t-shirt against his seared skin. "Shit, sorry. Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

"I feel like shit, what do you think?"

"Sorry," she mumbled as she helped him into the padded recliner. He laid back as she pulled the lever to put his feet up. It wasn't standard medical procedure to put the patient in a lazy-boy, but none of this was.

"Heyoooo!" Tony said as he glided in on the cart with his shining machine. "I'm like the milkman, just a creepier version. Leave your empty blood vessels on the front steps and get new ones in the morning! Kind of."

"Tony," Bruce warned as he wheeled in a tray with an odd juxtaposition of IV lines and fruit smoothies.

"I can take care of this, guys."

"But I want to play with my ne—"

"Thanks, Natasha. Just tell JARVIS if you need anything."

"Will do," she said, wiping down the crook of Clint's elbow with an alcohol pad. She slipped the IV in and secured it with a piece of medical tape. She slipped in another one in a slightly different spot. One to take the old blood out, one to bring the cleaned blood back. She switched on the machine, it whirred to life and one of the lines filled black red with his blood. "Pina colada, grape, or berry?"

"Real grapes?"

"Yeah, you can buy peeled grapes apparently. Who the fuck wants that job? Jesus that must be dull."

"I'll enjoy the literal fruits of their labors," he smiled as Natasha handed him the insulated cup. "Thanks, Nat."

"Not a problem," she sat next to him and started to rub some cooling lotion on his skin. He was starting to feel the first effects of the new blood. Tony had made it so pain killers, and SHIELD's advanced healing medications were mixed directly into his fresh blood. Her hands soothed his skin. He was hot under her hands. "It's so strange that it's basically sunburn," she said as she began putting some of the lotion on his legs, massaging them gently as she did.

"Yeah. The whole thing is kind of strange. I get my scan tomorrow, right?"

"Mhm, but if its anything like the preliminary scan we should only have a couple more treatments."

After the first round of dosing and scrubbing they'd done a scan. The glowing blue poisoning his veins had been significantly lighter. "I don't feel much better, I just feel weaker."

"Do you still hear his voice?"

"No, but my brain itches."

"It's just a side effect of everything."

"Now you're just repeating Bruce."

"He is the doctor, Clint."

"Good point." They drifted into silence, the machine whirring, scrubbing him healthy, Natasha hovering around his body with the lotion. "I think we should have kids."

It was the first time in his life he'd ever seen her falter. The bottle slipped out of her hands and onto the chair, it rolled between his leg and the arm rest, "excuse me?"

"Kids. You and I. A baby."

"Clint, this is the drugs talking," she said, anxiously checking the levels on the machine. "We can't have children."

"Why not?"

"Is this a fucking joke? Jesus Christ, Clint."

"I'm being serious, Natasha. I want to have a child with you."

"What about your vasectomy," she spat. So she had noticed.

"Solved that issue, took out a little insurance, if you know what I mean."

"Since when did you want a family?"

"Since you."

She threw her hands up in the air and got up off the chair and paced in front of him. Fists night, frustrated. Her mouth kept opening to speak and snapping it closed like a venus fly trap. "Is this a midlife crisis thing or like 'I'm-dying-and-I-want-a-legacy' thing because I can buy you a Ferrari or something?"

"Christ, Tash! Is that really what you think this is about? No, this is an 'I-want-to-have-a-baby-with-my-wife' thing."

"I just don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" His head lazily followed her pacing figure. Her normally calm demeanor had shattered, she was chewing on her nails and stomping.

"Everything!" She shouted at him. "What about work? About the team? About our enemies? The fact I'm still being hunted? Do you really think it's a good idea to have a fucking child right now? Loki must have fucked with your brain more than I thought."

"Fuck you, Natasha. We can retire and have a normal life; I am trying to give you some stability. Get you away from all of that shit. Give us a little happiness!" the heart rate monitor on the machine was beeping quickly as he glared at her from his chair.

"As fucked up as it is, Clint, this is normal for us!" She threw her hands up futily. "Do you think either of us has the skills to raise a kid? Neither of us even know what it's like to _have_ parents let alone _be_ parents. This is even a dumber fucking idea than getting married."

"So you don't want to be married to me?"

"That is not what I said! Do not twist my fucking words!" she pulled pen from her pocket and threw it with such force that it sunk in deep and straight in the overstuffed headrest inches away from Clint's forehead. He knew she didn't have to miss.

"Okay, okay. That was petty of me, I'm sorry."

She just stood there, facing the side wall, seething with anger. Refusing to look at him until she could do so without wanting to strangle him.

"Nat. Natasha, come here please."

"if I come any closer to you I might hit you."

He sighed, he felt dizzy. "I lo—"

"I know."

"I never wanted that sort of thing until you and I got together, and I realized that's the one thing that could pull us out of this life. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life being hunted and killing? We either have to give it up or we're going to die sooner rather than later."

"I know."

"I know it scares you. I know you think you'd be a horrible moth—"

"Clint, shut the fuck up."

"I'm sorry."

She just stood, he could see her white knuckled fists shaking with anger. He could see her mind working to control herself and disperse her anger without storming out. He hated himself, he should have known better. Maybe he had said it in a moment of panic, but he had a point. He closed his eyes and focused on the buzzing blood in his veins. He tried to picture what was going on inside Tony's "blood scrubber" and could only picture little old Yiddish women huddled over washboards scrubbing and ringing out little green hulked out blood cells, turning them a normal happy red. He liked this medication, the thought of the tiny hardworking women scrubbing his lifeblood clean calmed him for some reason. Clearly they were taking care of him.

"I'll think about it."

"Huh?"

"I said I'll think about it. But if you ever bring it up again without me bringing it up first, Clint I swear to god I'll—"

"Okay, okay. I promise."

"I need to go."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said as she walked towards the door. "I'll send Bruce in to unhook you."

"Thank you," he said, for more than just not leaving him stuck there. She'd think about it, it was more than he'd expected.


	19. Chapter 19

She did a quick mental inventory of the weirdest situations she'd ever been in. This was definitely at the top of the list. She didn't all together hate it; it just took some getting used to.

"Thor was saying Clint's recovery is going well, he's had fun working with he and Steve. It's great that they are spending time together, don't you think?" Jane had a stunning smile, and even Natasha had to admit, one of the sweetest and most endearing personalities.

"It was really nice of you guys to come and help out. I didn't expect this to be such a team effort."

"Of course! It's been great getting to know all of you, besides Bruce and Tony have the coolest equipment! They even understand what I'm talking about."

The women laughed and took sips of their drinks. It was lovely day, perfect weather to enjoy a slice of cake and a cup of tea or coffee on the patio of a little, albeit expensive bistro.

"So have you two set a date yet, Jane?" Maria Hill asked. Inviting her had been Bruce and Jane's idea. No one but Clint knew that she and Natasha had slept together in the past. It wasn't awkward spending time together like Natasha thought it might be, it was just unusual. She liked it.

The petite blonde beamed, and held up her hand to inspect the sparkling ring as if to make sure it wasn't all a dream and remind herself of the plans, but then sighed. "Nope, not yet. He wants a huge feast, one here and one on Asgard. And now that Tony found out, he wants to help which means it's just going to be ostentatious and gigantic."

"That's Stark for you," Maria cut in. They women laughed again.

"The way those two are plotting and planning you'd think Tony and Thor were getting married, not Thor and I."

"Men." They all nodded woefully in agreement.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Jane asked the slim brunette. Natasha raised her eyebrows in curiosity. She wouldn't deny being wondering, she just didn't expect the agent to share.

"Actually yeah. I've been seeing this woman I met at a bookstore on a day off. Her name is Karen. She's really laid back, an artist. It's so different than what I'm used to."

"That's good though, right?"

"It's great. I've been actually using my personal time for personal stuff," She smiled. "Fury almost had a stroke when he realized I had a life." She puffed out her chest and covered one eye and scowled, "about fucking time!" she said in a deep voice, mocking the director. They burst into laughter.

Natasha smiled genuinely. She was having tea with her girlfriends. Like a normal person. Clint was on the mend, his latest scans had shown no signs of the Tesseract signature radiation and he'd been working tirelessly on regaining his strength with the help of Steve and Thor.

"How're things with you and Clint? This whole thing must have been really hard on you guys."

"It has been. But it's getting better. He's not afraid he'll try to kill me anymore."

"Like he could anyways," Maria snorted.

"That's what I said!" Natasha replied with a chuckle, Jane let out a mildly uncomfortable giggle. "But things are good. He misses his workshop, but we're staying in the tower until he's completely better."

"Are you guys planning on tying the knot or anything?" Jane fiddled with her own engagement ring.

Natasha swallowed. They were her friends, but could she trust them? They were her team mates, well kind of. They already knew about the relationship, and now that Tony knew about the marriage, it wouldn't be long before everyone else knew as well. "Actually, we're already married," she said quietly.

"WHAT?" The women gasped in unison.

"Hah, funny story really," she shrugged. "We exchanged vows in Budapest, during a firefight in the middle of a bombed out church. It's not legal or anything, but it's enough for us."

"How romantic!"

"I guess. It was getting married was Clint's idea. I was against it at first, but I'm glad we did. He's my best friend, my partner, and now my husband. He said we were probably going to spend the rest of our lives together anyways, so I said why not."

"You two have a house together right? Fury thinks he's just your partner-slash-live-in-guard."

"Yeah, in upstate New York. Maybe the team can come out for dinner or something when this is all over. And shit, yeah. Fury's gonna have to find out eventually, can you imagine that conversation?" Natasha and Maria cringed.

"So are you guys going to have kids?" Jane chirped.

Natasha tried not to spit out her tea at the surprise. "Uhh-we-um-it's difficult in our line of work. I-I don't think it's a wise decision, but Clint really wants it."

"I think you'd be a wonderful mother, Natasha." The tiny woman put a hand on hers. She ignored the gut reaction to flinch away.

"Besides, you and Barton would have the most beautiful children." The agent added.

"Hah, yeah. I just don't really know if it's what I want. I don't know anything other than being an assassin. Wow that sounds tragic, but it's the truth. I don't want to bring a child into this kind of life. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy that they'd end up one too, not to mention we'd be gone all the time, and they'd probably become an orphan."

"You're not contracted to SHIELD though, right?"

"No, my contract was up after five years. Clint and I both work at will for them."

"So you can quit."

"We can, but I don't know anything else."

"You're a smart woman, you can learn!" Jane said cheerily, Maria nodded.

"We'll see. It's a big decision. Besides, we just formed a super team. Which is by far the coolest thing that's ever happened in my career. I do not want to drop out now."

"Fair enough."

"Besides, the team needs a woman to make sure they don't do anything stupid."

"Seriously. They are no better than a pack of teenage boys at times."

"Especially at the dinner table."

The women smiled at each other. Clint would make fun of her endlessly when he learned she'd actually had a good time with the other women. Thor would surely give her a rib crushing hug, he wanted her and Jane to be steadfast friends. And she'd definitely have to make a point to spend more time with Maria, she hadn't realized she'd missed the female company.

Suddenly a waiter appeared at their table with a covered platter.

"Miss Rushman?"

"Yes?"

"A gift from an anonymous admirer," he said as he set the platter down in front of her.

"Oh, thank you?"

He bowed and left.

"Is it from Clint?"

She lifted the cover; inside sat a shot glass of vodka and a card. She picked up the thick paper tentatively. Curving letters in thick red ink red "knock, knock."

The crack of a gunshot rang out. She dove across the table, knocking down Jane and Maria. Screams of the other patrons filled the warm summer air. Another gunshot rang out and she felt the impact of it on the pavement near her hear as a pieces of debris flew at her face.

"GET JANE OUT OF HERE! EVERYONE GET DOWN AND INTO THE BUILDING!" she barked at she pulled a pistol out of her book, and grabbed the one tucked into Hill's jacket, "thanks for the spare, now get out of here and call for back up."

She ducked behind a concrete planter as another booming shot drew screams. She could hear the police sirens coming nearer, but there was nothing they could do. She couldn't hit the sniper with her pistols, no matter how good an aim she was. She pulled out her phone. Tony had made the team all special phones, equipped with standard and specialized investigative equipment, their own satellite for never ending coverage, and personalized JARVIS's for each of them. She tapped through to an app and an inferred beam scanned the bullet hole pitting the ground near her hiding spot. The phone's processor thought for a few moments before a thick Russian voice (BORIS, Tony's idea of a joke) spoke, "The trajectory is consistent with the roof of the Viper Press building, 30% to your southwest, Ms. Romanoff."

She looked where the AI directed her and the glint of a scope caught her eye, she held up the phone and it zoomed in automatically to get a clear shot of the assailant, the camera, assisted by Tony's high tech satellite imaging snapped a picture. He could clearly see her and soon the figure was pulling away from the edge. Seconds later she could hear the telltale roar of the Iron Man suit as police cars screeched to a halt outside the bistro.

"Natasha, have you got a lock on him?" Tony spoke through her phone.

"Top of the Viper building, but he's already gone."

"Damn. Are you alright? Call birdboy, he's yelling in my ear."

"I'm fine. I'll be back soon. Search the building though, I'll have BORIS send you the picture of the guy."

"Alright, see you soon!"

She watched the red and gold sheen set down on top of the Viper building as the police approached. She pulled out her badge and Maria was next to her with hers out in an instant.

Three hours later she stepped into her suit. Clint pacing in front of the couch where Steve sat, clearly trying to talk him down.

"If you don't stop that, you're going to wear a path into the carpet," she said smoothly, as if nothing had happened.

"NAT!" He rushed over to her, checking her body for marks and gripping her tight. She could feel he was getting his strength back. "Jesus, why didn't you answer my calls?"

"I was with the police, they frown upon that. I'm okay," she took his grizzled face in her hands, his eyes were scared, "I'm okay." She kissed him gently.

She looked past him to Steve, "do you know if Tony found the shooter?"

"He didn't. Do we know who they were working for?"

She pulled the card out of her purse, "The red room."


	20. Chapter 20

**_Author's_ Note:** _This chapter is mostly informational. I made most of it up, i.e. not from the comics. I just wanted to give you guys (and the team!) full knowledge of what they're dealing with. Next week will be back to full swing action. _

_I would love to hear what you guys think of everything so far. Reviews just make my day. I'm so thankful for all the encouragement, subs/favs, and love I've received, it means a lot to me, thank you._

* * *

"Now just 'cause you guys saved New York—"

"The world," Tony interjected. Fury's death glare wiped the smile from his face before the director continued.

"It doesn't mean you get to do whatever the hell you want, you're still under my command. I let you take care of Agent Barton amongst yourselves because frankly, y'all are too stubborn to listen to me anyways."

"That whole super genius technology thing helps too," Tony spoke up again, smirking before he added, "Sir."

"Stark I will personally close that mouth if you don't," Maria Hill spoke up from the corner.

"Dinner first?"

The whole room rolled their eyes at the billionaire.

"Like I was saying," Fury said sternly "your team spirit is cute and all, but you can't just decide to take on one of the most powerful organizations in the world. Did you really think—"

"Sir, the Red Room made an attack on Natasha in public, almost killing Ms. Hill and Ms. Foster and endangering civilians, we just wanted to bypass all this frankly pointless briefing and get to work taking them down once and for all," Steve said. His interruption was so out of character Bruce and Fury were gawking. Natasha smiled warmly at him; she appreciated his zeal for taking them down.

"And how do you expect to take them down? You can't just walk in there like you did to Hydra, Rogers. You guys only have so much firepower."

"We were going to borrow some," Clint said, shrugging. The Director's face displayed his lack of amusement like a billboard.

"And to be honest, walking in there might be our best bet," Natasha spoke without realizing she'd said anything until she noticed their stunned faces focused on her.

"Excuse me?"

"They want me. We'll let them catch me. Lapse in security or something. Let them take me without MUCH of a fight. If I don't fight at all, or just give myself up they'll know it's a trap. But if they take me alive, they wont kill me."

"How can you be sure?" Steve said, worry apparent in his voice.

"Why would you kill your best asset? They'll try to bring back Natalia."

"I don't understand," Thor's eyebrows knitted. Most of the team nodded in agreement. She looked to Fury for permission to let the secrets spill. He nodded tightly, face drawn into a stern yet sorrowful look.

"You know I worked for the Russians, and that the Red Room is a program for assassins, correct?"

They nodded, waiting with baited breath. Beneath the table Clint reached for Natasha's hand. She gripped it firmly, drawing courage from the contact.

"My parents were killed in a political war when I was a child, they government took me to the Red Room, I was six. The Red Room is not like boot camp," she looked at Steve, "It is not like a school," She looked at Tony and Bruce, "It is not training with your fellow warriors," she looked at Thor. "The Room is life or death. My first day they shot the other three girls brought in with me, one for sneezing without permission, one for not standing straight enough, the other just because they could. If you didn't run fast enough, you died. If you didn't excel in your studies or training, why waste the resources?" She took a moment to glance at the horrified faces. Clint squeezed her hand. "As incredulous as it sounds compared to what I just told you, fear is not their main control over occupants of the Red Room. They indoctrinate us to believe we are the reason for the horrors there, we are nothing but killing machines bred to be the best of the best of the best of the assassins in the world. Unfailing loyalty to Russia and the Rooms. To die or take our own lives before giving up or revealing any of their secrets."

"Rooms?" Bruce asked, voice strained with disbelief.

"In addition to the Red Room, which is for assassins and spies, there is the Blue room which specializes in thieves and code crackers that would make the boys at the NSA look like toddlers. There's the Green Room, which is where the brightest minds whom lack the body to match go. You ever wonder why so many brilliant scientists come from Russia? We make them. The spetsnaz fall under the White Room, it's a general purpose training program. The Russian Green Barrettes. Anyone in the Rooms is imbued with the same rhetoric: Russia above all, your life is not important, only your mission is.

The other Rooms are rough, but nothing like the Red Room. I should have died there a dozen times, I have a bad habit of taking things into my own hands," she smiled sadly. "But they couldn't kill their top student, not someone with so much promise and skill. The comrades at the Green Room came up with new drugs, things that our three letter acronyms would sacrifice our standing army for; mind control drugs. They remade me from Natalia Drakov into Natalia Romanova. Compliant, addicted, emotionless, passionate about their ideals, and the perfect assassin. If I didn't die in the field, I'd be the master of the Red Room in ten years. They named me Black Widow when I was 14, already on field missions, seducing men and women alike for information and luring them to their deaths. I was their Captain America, the picture of Russian military perfection."

"Jesus Christ…" Tony was speechless for once.

"How did you end up with SHIELD?" Thor asked.

She looked to Clint, who smiled weakly at her. It was his turn to speak.

"It's hard to keep such a prolific spy under wraps. Especially when she's stolen half the country's vital information in four inch stilettos. We tracked her for months. But she kept evading us, too good at her job, she always saw us coming. So Fury pulled everyone on the mission except for me. She would expect an army, but not an army of one."

"My mistake," she sighed, but smiling.

"it was battle that nearly killed us both, but I had the edge. She was suffering from with drawl from whatever psychotropic poison they loaded her up with. She still wouldn't give up. I don't know if it was all the blows to the head or the real Nat shining through the darkness, but with an arrow in her face she said 'Go ahead. Real hell is better than where I've been. I welcome your arrow.' She said that, while still attempting to kill me by the way, clearly beaten and bleeding out. She wouldn't give up her life easily, but she couldn't let herself go back. I had direct orders to kill her no matter what. But I couldn't. Not something so tenacious and stunningly resilient. I didn't know if I could help her, if SHIELD could help her, but I gambled my life that there was enough humanity left her to salvage."

"I defected, and went with him. But it took months before I trusted even Clint. Almost a full year before I could be called 'stable.' Fury gave me the opportunity of a new identity, a new life, and a new career."

"The Red Room seemed to have accepted her as a traitor and as dead to them," the Director's voice suddenly jarred the team in his direction. "Up until the eight months or so. This is the second confirmed attempt on Agent Romanoff's life, something much more public than they're known for. They are suddenly very, very concerned with taking her down, and we don't know why this is, but its concerning to an extreme degree."

"They're not going to stop until they have me back or dead."

"We're not going to let that happen, Natasha."

"I know, Bruce. But the only way to get into the Red Room is from the inside."

"And you tell me I have bad ideas," Clint mumbled.

"That would be akin to suicide, what if we cannot get you back out?"

"You'll just have to take me down then."

"Fuck that, we're getting a new plan."

"Clint, it's the only way."

"Bullshit!"

"Yeah, come on Charlotte, there's enough brain power in this room to out think them!" Tony said.

"But there's only one person in this room that knows how they operate."

"She's got a point," Bruce said, begrudgingly disagreeing with her. The room was silent as they all thought of the consequences and frantically searched their brains for other ways.

"You will follow Agent Romanoff's plan," Fury announced suddenly and with great apprehension. "Even if it's the worst fucking plan in the history of strategic operations, there really is no other way."

"NO!" Clint slammed his fists on the table.

"You will follow my command or you wont be a part of it at all, Barton." The Directors face held no sign of bluffing. "Understood?"

"Understood."

"Now, Agent, tell us this spectacularly asinine plan of yours."


	21. Chapter 21

The cold, gloved hands searched her body, poking and probing. Feeling for tracking devices, and any injuries from the fight. She closed her eyes and thought of someplace far away when the fingers decided no place was too personal to stick electronics.

"Nothing noted in the vaginal, rectal, or oral canals. Preliminary torso scan shows no trace of electric components. Contusions, fresh, noted on both forearms. There are several lacerations on the face and scalp," the squat, Russian doctor spoke to the recorder hanging in the middle of the exam room. Natasha remembered her and her recorder. The guard standing in the corner had been two beds down from her during her time in the Room, the boy she'd been paired with to learn to seduce the opposite sex. It was like coming home to barbed wire hugs from grizzly bears.

The stubby fingers poked at a sore cut in her scalp. What the woman attached to the stubby fingers didn't notice is that it was older than the other cuts. Beneath it was a paper thin GPS tracker that ran on bioenergy, courtesy of Stark Industries. It wouldn't show up on a scan. It had about 20 minutes of test time before Natasha was deployed, being the first to test, or be embedded with it. She hoped it work. If it didn't, she would be stuck here.

"Dress," the doctor tossed a Red Room uniform at her. She remembered it so well. The red, long sleeved, heavy cotton shirt. The black military battle field pants. The shoes they gave her were new. Black canvas slippers. Toms, how ironic she thought, buy a pair for your assassins, and give a pair to the third world countries citizen who's president they'd just assassinated. Basic, militaristic underwear and a sports bra. The doctor left, but the guard stayed. His eyes never leaving Natasha.

"Did you miss me, Artyom?" she asked, pulling her pants on.

The guard didn't answer, just watched unflinchingly.

"You should see the world outside the rooms. It's not as bad as they say. Did you miss me?" She asked, walking towards him with an extra roll to her hips, pants slung low, lush skin abundant.

"I don't consort with traitors," he spat.

"Aww, Artyom. Are you mad I got a new boyfriend while I was out?"

"You always were Russia's favorite whore."

"I was also their best," she pulled the heavy top over her head. "What happened to your illustrious career?"

He hesitated for a moment before hitching up a pant leg to reveal a titanium post stuck out of the boot.

"Ouch. Speaking of limbless bastards, where's Barnes?"

"He's next," he said holding out hand cuffs. Natasha turned around and let the man cuff her wrists behind her back. "Let's go."

(BREAK)

"Do we have confirmation on her location?"

"Otorten mountain, the south east side," Steve spoke.

"Oh that's just great," Bruce said.

Barton gave him a questioning look.

"'Otorten' in the native Mansi means 'Mountain of Dead Men.'"

"The Russians are such a cheery people," Tony said from the pilot's seat. "I can see where Natasha gets it."

"How long till we get there?"

"Another 45 minutes or so. Just cool it, Clint."

"This shall be exciting!" Thor announced.

"Interesting, to say the least," Bruce replied.

There was no real plan. Just breach the base. Find Natasha, and take out the Room leaders, or get them to stop by any means possible.

"Steve, you know about Barnes, right?"

The super soldier's head dropped, his voice was terse "Yeah, I know."

"Are you going to be able to take him out if you have to?" Bruce asked.

"I lost Bucky that day in the mountains."

"Are we almost there?"

"Yeah."

Clint counted his arrows again.

(BREAK)

She remembered every hall and corner like she'd never left. It all looked exactly the same. Down to the way the way the screws were turned. It was eerie.

"So what'd I do to get Barnes' and the others panties in a twist?"

The guard, Artyom, just led her to the interrogation room wordlessly.

They turned the corner, a girl, no older than thirteen suddenly disappeared from the hallway. From around the corner she could hear whispers following the girl.

"черная вдова-chernaya vdova." The Black Widow.

They seemed to echo through the walls as Artyom marched her to The Winter Solider. They passed the mess hall, it was dead silent. As she passed the door, one brave soul called out "Black Widow!" it echoed in her ears like the subsequent gunshot that followed. She didn't flinch at the shot, but she had at the acknowledgement.

Suddenly she was being pushed through an open door. And there sat Bucky Barnes. Metallic fingers clicking impatiently on the table.

"Ahh, Natalia. So good to see you again!"

"I wish I could say the same, sir."

He smiled at her. Something about his face was eerily inhuman. Something about him was eerily inhuman. Although, he was as old as Steve Rogers, but without hibernation spell. No, Bucky Barnes wasn't entirely himself anymore. He was a Frankenstein. He was machines, and chemicals, and everything but human at this point. And he was the ring leader.

"At least you remember who's in charge. How's Nick Fury? Is being his bitch better than being mine?"

"He doesn't drug me."

"It's just 'cause we loved you so much, Natalia. We needed you like you needed us. Like you still need us."

"Yeah, I think I like my new job more. Thanks but no thanks, Barnes."

"You know, you were doing so well for yourself in SHIELD, but you just had to start being their best. Little Natalia still can't settle for second place, can she?"

"What can I say, I'm an over achiever." She shrugged, the handcuffs jingled.

"People started noticing. The Black Widow didn't die. She just switched teams. How do you think that makes us look, my darling? Our best, most prolific, loyal agent up and leaves for SHIELD. We lose clients, we lose funding, we lose respect. We just can't have that."

"Sorry to say, you can't have me either."

"Oh but my dear, Natalia, we've got you! The spider is back in her web."

"It's Natasha now."

"We can fix that."

"I wish you wouldn't."

His face stretched grotesquely into the smile again, "you were always a hopeful one. That doesn't work here; you should know that by now."

"I always was a stubborn one too, that clearly didn't work for you either."

"Do you not respect me as your leader?" He asked, feigning hurt emotions, "Oh, I'm crushed."

"The walls tell me there's something bigger going on here than me just being good at my job."

"Ahh, yes. Well you know, hope is one of those things that spreads like the plague. Once one rat has it, all the fleas and all the rats have it."

"Aww, run out of drugs for the food?"

"Word came back from some field training missions that the Black Widow lived. She wasn't dead, she was fighting for the enemy. She'd escaped the Red Room."

"You just trained me too well," she said flatly. "Fear and manipulation doesn't work as well as it used to, eh?"

He slammed a fist on the table, "ENOUGH! You insolent cow. You're here now, and you're not getting out. Not only are we going to drag every SHIELD secret from that fucked up little head of yours, we're going to make an example of you. Execute you in front of the students, so they finally realize there is no escaping the Red Room."

"Death is a pretty nice escape, you should try it."

There was a loud thunk against the door. Then another. The metal frame bent. "Someone's at the door, sweetie."

The door bent inwards and Captain America crawled over the twisted threshold.

"Rogers!" Bucky spat and shot up from his seat and lunged at the Captain. Steve threw his shield, hitting the man and stopping him in midair, dropping him like a helicopter from the sky. Natasha had taken the brief distraction to wriggle her body in nearly impossible ways to get her handcuffs in the front. She leaped at Bucky, wrapping the cuffs around his neck. In a quick motion she snapped his neck.

"Break these cuffs off and give me your gun, quick!"

Steve did as he was told. Natasha didn't hesitate to shoot Barnes in the heart and head.

"I'm pretty sure he was already dead."

'He's more machine than man. I just wanted to be sure."

Steve looked at the body solemnly, "let's go."

They stepped back into the chaos. Hulk swung his arm and sent several Red Room guards crashing into the wall.

"How big is the plane?"

"Uh, why?"

"Follow me,"

She ran through the melee, dodging bullets and blaster beams. She could hear Thor's laughs of triumph, she knew Clint was somewhere in all this, but she had something to do first.

She kicked down the door of the mess hall where the students still sat, still as dolls. She shot the guards without stopping. She stepped onto a table.

"I am the Black Widow. I am offering you a way out. Come with me to SHIELD, we can get you new work, new lives. You don't have to work for SHIELD, and you don't have to work for The Rooms. Come with me and be free."

"The plane's not that big," Steve said quietly.

"Well then call in the helicarrier or recon or something," she said, whispers had gone up through the crowd.

"What if we want to stay?"

"You don't."

"The Red Room gave you everything, traitor!"

"They took more than they could ever give. Come with me and I'll show you. You're either coming with as a prisoner, or as an ally. We are not the commanders, you have a choice."

The far wall suddenly burst as Iron Man tumbled through it. No one flinched, they all just turned to look. It was a room of robots.

"Hey kids, just dropping in. Please don't kill my comrades there!" he flew off again, chasing after his assailant.

"Any questions?" She asked. The crowd looked tentative.

A hand raised, it was the girl she'd seen in the hall earlier. "How did you escape?"

"A little birdy gave me a lift. Now a spider is spinning you an escape ladder."

The girl smiled, she stood up from her table. "The Black Widow lives!" she shouted.

The cheers drown out even the Hulk.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Author's Note:**_ _I accidentally fluffed a lot in this chapter. My original plans for this fic included no fluff at all, but there is still drama and more stuff coming, so I guess we'll just have to see. Sorry about the long wait for an update. I've been working double overtime and been just insanely busy. Also follow me on tumblr if you please, my url is hannahisdead._ _thanks for reading, enjoy!_

* * *

"Next time you decide to bring an entire assassin program home, could you let us know ahead of time?" the director sighed.

"Sorry, Sir. It's not every day we break into the world's top spy program and start a coup."

"It is a rare occurrence, I admit. But seriously, Romanoff. What the hell are we going to do with all these kids?" He gestured to the mess hall full of teens and children. The oldest were only seventeen, the youngest barely six.

"The older ones, if they want to can be trained into SHIELD. Otherwise get them all into school, into normal lives, keep them under watch and get them into therapy. Maybe try to give them a chance at a real life that other Red Room agents never had."

"That you never had?"

"I wouldn't change what I have or had, sir." She said firmly.

"You know how hard it's going to be to place 315 kids?"

"They are _not_ going to foster homes. They need real care of people who know what they've been through."

"It might not be a choice we have, Natasha."

"There are enough SHIELD families and special ops families to take care of these kids. Sir, with the Avengers on call and the relative peace since the world has realized the USA has a team of superheroes at their disposal we can more than afford to give willing families the time off, even an allowance."

The Director stared pointedly at her, his hands together, fingers teepee'd as he mulled over what she had said. He knew she was right; there had been a large decrease in the World Security Council's demands SHIELD, as well as other worldly forces like it. These kids, left in foster homes would rebel under the uncontrolled hands of ill-prepared gaurdians. Turning into highly trained, and very pissed off terrorists on home ground. But the chance to show them love, and care, and an environment they can grow in, that could change everything. Hadn't just the idea of that made Natasha turn coat and go with Clint? He examined the agent standing in front of him. She looked set in stone. She was still wearing the gear from the Red Room. She was torn, and bloody. She had bags under her eyes, she hadn't slept in days. But she would not waiver from her position for one moment. She was the Natasha Nick Fury had grown to care about, his prized agent and somewhat of a child to him. This was the second time emotion's had led Natasha's decisions in her career. The only other time had been when Clint had been under Loki's control.

"What's going on between you and Barton?"

"Sir?"

"Do not play games with me, Agent Romanoff. You'd have to be a blind man not to see there is something going on there. And since I still have one eye, you better fucking tell me before I beat it out of you."

She merely blinked that the threat. Telling him could disband their partnership, even get them kicked off the Avengers Initiative. But he was going to find out eventually. The rest of the team knew, Fury would find out sooner or later. She couldn't show fear, not now. "We're married. Have been since Budapest. He's not my roommate or my live in guard, he's my husband."

"You better be fucking kidding me, Natasha," his face was a storm of anger and shock. He'd expected they were fucking, but married was a whole different kettle of fish.

"I'm not, sir. The team knows. Coulson knew. It's not legal, but it's official enough for us."

"Any other big fucking secrets you're keeping from me?"

"None that come to mind, sir."

"I should have Barton thrown back to the Marines."

"Sir, he is my partner. I will no longer be able to work for SHIELD if I cannot work with him."

"Stark, Banner, Rogers, and Odinson all know?"

"Yes, sir. Also Stark and Banner are together, but you didn't hear it from me."

"I knew about that. They invite me over for dinner, unlike some people." His eyebrows furrowed.

"Had I known you to be the dinner invitation type and had we not been a little busy saving the world and our asses lately, an invite would have been extended."

Their hard faces kept perfectly in line for a moment or two more, before a twinkle cracked Fury's eye and he started laughing. A rich, full laugh that made Natasha soften and her lips curl into her own smile.

"Since Budapest, really?" he gasped between laughs, still not quite able to believe it.

"Actually, we got together after I got back from San Francisco. Just married in Budapest."

"Before the Milan compromization?" his face fell a bit, he'd stopped laughing.

"Yeah."

"Shit…I knew he saw the whole thing, even as a partner that's rough. But as a…Shit."

"He tracked me to my safe house."

"Which one?"

"The one that's even secret from you."

"Wow."

"Despite the fact I could have killed him, or myself, he refused to leave me alone. He helped me heal. Again. I know he's not your favorite person, si—"

"I never said that. Barton is a great agent, the best at what he does. Not only did he bring you to me as an agent, he put you in my life, and if you trust him enough to marry him, that's enough to earn my respect. He's still a pain in the ass though most of the time."

"I agree, sir."

They smiled again at each other.

"I'll put out a memo to SHIELD agents and other capable government agents about the kids. The older ones we'll put into a government run school until they're of age if they want to work for any of the agencies. Anyone under fourteen we'll find a family for. Any questions?"

"Just one."

His eyebrow raised as he waited for her response.

"Are any of the members of the Avengers deemed capable of adopting any of the children?"

* * *

The car was quite, the only sounds were the tires thrumming over the smooth pavement and the occasional truck passing.

"Fury knows," she said finally, barely audible above the din of car noise.

"Knows what?" he replied, absently fiddling with his phone.

"Us. The marriage. Everything."

"How did he find out?" the phone was neatly tucked in his lap now, his eyes fixed on her as she drove.

"I told him."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because he was going to find out eventually, Clint. Tony knows, the rest of the world isn't far behind."

"Is he mad?"

"He's threatened to give you back to the Marines."

"That would go over well for everyone," Clint said huffing and rolling his eyes.

"But he gave his blessing. Well, I mean as close as a blessing from Fury as you can get."

"So we're okay?"

"We're okay," She gave him a reassuring smile as they slipped onto the exit towards home. He exhaled a sigh of relief and they once again lapsed into silence.

She thought about the children back at the SHIELD base. The youngest one, only five and a half years old. She'd only been in the Red Room six months, but it had aged her considerably. She was hardened, scarred, and scared.

"What's your take on the Red Room kids?"

"some of them are fucked up beyond repair, but they thought that about you too. I think the older ones will be good agents, as long as we can control them. The younger ones, man" he sighed and shook his head.

"Fury is creating an in house adoption program. Hopefully getting them into homes and into normal lives. Only SHIELD and other special ops agents, people capable of handling that kind of trauma."

"Huh, that's a good idea."

"Yeah, I thought so. I was thinking about letting Bruce and Tony know. I mean, I know they've only been together for a little while, but it's an option."

"Do you think Bruce could handle a rebellious kid though, I mean what if he…"

"He can handle Tony just fine."

He snorted, "Okay, good point." He smiled a bit at the image of Bruce teaching some young boy how to drive an RC robot, and Tony trying to prepare a meal without guidance from JARVIS. They'd be good at it. They turned onto the gravel road towards home.

"It's open to all SHIELD agents."

"Can you imagine Fury with a kid?" He laughed.

"Oh lord, that's a scary thought." She laughed too, picturing the eye-patch baring director reading a bed time story to a small child cuddling a gun instead of a teddy bear. If Fury had a personal life at all, it was something Natasha was both equally terrified and curious about. "Are there any kids that stuck out in particular to you?"

"The little blonde one, the five-year-old. Vera, I think she said her name was? She's been through a lot. But she still pretty fucking perky. She wanted to tell me about the fairies she saw in the clouds on the way over here. I'm pretty sure she was talking about Tony flying next to the plane, but she was so damn excited I didn't have the heart to correct her."

"She's still got an imagination; she must have not been there too long."

"One of the other kids said she was new, only a couple months into training. But still, that's pretty resilient from what you've told me, yeah?"

"Yeah, she must be a tough one. You like her?"

"She's adorable," he pulled out his phone and tapped through to a picture he'd taken of her with some of the other kids. "She's got curly hair like you." Natasha parked the car in the driveway and smiled at the picture.

"Does she remember her parents?"

"She was an orphan to begin with, said the Red Room took her from a group home."

"They do that sometimes if they find particularly good kids. Genetics screenings and simple assessment tests."

"That's fucked up."

"Agreed," she said as she unlocked the door.

"Think she'd be good for Bruce and Tony?" he asked, putting his hands on her hips and kissing the back of her neck sofly. She turned into his arms and kissed him deeply.

"I think she'd be good for us."

His serene smile widened into something beyond joy. He picked her up and spun her around, laughing and kissing her again. "Really?"

"Yeah. And maybe, _maybe_ after a year or so with her, if I think we can handle it, we can, you know, have our own. I mean a biological child, Vera will be our own."

"Seriously, Nat?" he looked her dead in the eyes, she smiled softly at him.

"Yes, seriously. The Red Room is taken care of. You're better, I'm better. SHIELD is accidently being restructured to be family friendly, so we might as well take the opportunity. If the Avengers need us, we know that we have the resources and the back up to be able to join them. Between the SHIELD base and the troves of people Tony has access to at the tower, we can at least give them a stable life when we do have missions."

"And you're sure you're ready for this?"

She laughed nervously, "Is anyone ever truly ready for parenthood?"

"Good point." He kissed her on the forehead. "I'm so fucking happy, Nat."

"I am too. We can have SHIELD get the paperwork tomorrow. She can have the corner room, the one overlooking the back of the workshop. I was thinking about putting a garden back there. Anyways, the room is already painted and all we have to do is get some furniture."

"What if she doesn't want us?" He said, his face suddenly snapping into a twisted pain.

"She played with you today, didn't she? She told you all about the fairies, and about the orphanage, right?"

"She trusts you."

"Is that how kids work?"

"I think so. Clint, it's not like she really knows what it's like to have parents, I'm sure she'll be okay with us not knowing what it's like to be parents."

"We'll do the best to give her everything we never had," he said, pulling his wife close and kissing her hair. "Then we can have another, a baby."

"Let's see how we do with one first," she laughed into the crook of his neck.

"Can we practice at least?" he said, his hands dipping down to her lower back, pushing aside fabric trace over smooth skin.

"Well we can't even make babies that way thanks to your adventures in vasectomies and radiation," his hands began pushing at the tops of her pants. "But I suppose we can always give it a try," she whispered in his ear before kissing the hollow behind it. Nipping down his jaw as he slid the loose pants over her hips. Her hands pushed the fabric off his torso and pulled it over his head.

"Please tell me this means kitchen sex."

She noticed for the first time they were still standing in the kitchen, she shrugged, "what better place to make something?" she pulled him forward by his belt buckle, kissing him roughly. She undid his pants while he literally tore off her shirt. Once they were naked, they took a moment to just admire each other, letting the tension build in their bodies. The kitchen was dark, but the light poured in from the moon outside. Natasha's curves were amplified by the shadows, she'd never looked more beautiful to him. Clint's muscles seemed to melt into the darkness, he looked handsome and mysterious like the first time she saw him. In an instant they were pouncing on each other. He grabbed her hair roughly and forced her over the table in a single movement, he knew it was only because she'd let him but he didn't care at this point. He kissed down her spine, hand still gripping the red curls. His other hand came down sharply on her ass, eliciting a yelp from his partner and a satisfying hand print appearing instantly. He smiled and moved the hand between her legs, she was more than ready for him, but he liked teasing her. They hadn't had a lot of alone time since he got out of treatment before the Red raid. For the first time in weeks, he could enjoy his wife, and he wanted to enjoy every part of her.

"You like that?" he said, slowly rubbing a finger up and down her wet slit.

"Yes, sir."

"If I let go of your hair, will you be a good girl and obey me?"

"Maybe."

His hand came down on the exact same spot as before, she yipped, "yes, sir!"

"Good." He released her hair, and turned her around. He kissed her deeply, bending her backwards over the table before lifting her up onto it. "Lay back."

She did as she was told, watching him with lusted over eyes as he spread her thighs. Kissing and nipping at them. He nosed at her arousal, brushing against her clit, making her sigh in pleasure. He sucked the hard nub into his mouth, tongue flicking in the vacuum of his lips. She moaned and he held her bucking hips down. "Shit, Clint." He slipped two fingers into her wetness and she pushed back against him. He crooked them and rubbed her g-spot as he sucked her clit. She was panting and shaking already. He moved his fingers in tight circles against her spot. She yelled out profanities as her head flew back against the table and she clenched around his fingers, gushing in orgasm. He loved the taste and feel of her on his hands and face.

"Fucking love you, Nat."

"Then fuck me already."

He stood up and leaned over to kiss her, lining up before slamming into her hard. She gasped into his mouth. It was a furious pace. Her orgasm building off her recent one. He was desperate for release after weeks of abstinence. Soon they were both spent and collapsed on the table. His head lying on her sweaty chest, smiling and sated.

"We should probably disinfect the table."

She laughed, he loved the sound it made deep in her chest. "Yeah probably."

"Tomorrow we become parents."

"Till death do us part?"

"Till death do us part."


	23. Chapter 23

Seeing Clint and Natasha in civvies wasn't a rare occurrence, between missions and downtime Nick Fury has seen them in every conceivable outfit, that wasn't what stopped him when he came in the room. What stopped him was seeing the sundress clad Natasha and plaid clad Clint holding hands nervously, Clint's thumb stroking the back of her hand gently as he smiled serenely.

"One of the plus sides of your raid was getting the files out on all the students, we have profiles for all the kids. It'll be helpful placing them with families and figuring out our best course of action for each kid," the Director said without a hello.

"We didn't want that information falling into the wrong hands, we're glad it can be of use," Natasha said. "Is there anything on Vera?"

"Quite a bit actually," his tone was concerning to the soon to be parents. Natasha's eyes darted to the window of the office, outside she could see Vera outside playing with a SHIELD counselor. She looked back at Clint who looked just as concerned, but he gave his wife a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. Fury watched the exchange with fascination. Never in his life did he expect to be witnessing such things from the two killers, it was akin to seeing a lion nurse a bleeding lamb. "You're both well aware of the experiments performed on kids there; genetic enhancement like Rogers, mind altering chemicals to produce different personalities, things like that. Vera here was plucked out of an orphanage at five when the house mother called the police to report an incident." He pulled a flashdrive out of his pocket and plugged it into the computer on the desk and tapped away.

"That is a little extreme on her part, isn't it?" Clint said, brows furrowed.

"Just listen, Barton."

Fury's fingers adjusted the volume knob on the speakers and a frightened voice filled the room, speaking in Russian.

"I need help!" the voice said.

"What's your emergency, ma'am?"

"The little one, she started crying and things they started—Oh lord!" there was a loud crash echoing through the speakers, screams of children in the background.

"Ma'am what about the little girl, what happened to her, is she okay?"

"She's the cause! She was upset and things started shaking on the shelves. Then they started flying and—" she was cut off by more screams and scrambling on the end her end of the phone. "Please help us! She's making things fly through the air! One of them hit Guntar!"

Fury clicked 'pause,' "Emergency services got there to find Guntar, one of the caretaker's throat slit by a flying kitchen knife. The house was trashed," he threw some pictures of the wreckage down on the desk, "several kids were injured, and over $5000 of damage was caused to the house." Natasha picked up the pictures carefully. It looked like a tornado and a poltergeist had thrown a party. "They found the girl asleep in the middle of the wreckage," The Director handed her another picture. In this one Vera was curled up with a teddy bear, her face was red and tear stained, but she was asleep in the center of the destroyed room. "The Red Room officials came and took her that evening. Her records from the room indicate she had some of the most intense experimental drugs and training. Genetic enhancement, brain enhancing drugs, sedation. Things to hone and control her telekentic abilities."

"Did it work?" Natasha suddenly asked. Clint and Fury looked at her with surprise.

"Yeah, it worked to an extent. Her mental age went from that of a four year old to a seven year old in a matter of six months. Along with that came more controllable emotions, enhanced judgment. But she's still a five year old. The Red Room couldn't get that through their heads. She's physically strong and small, like most Red Room kids," he looked at Natasha knowingly. "But she's still a kid. She doesn't have many outbursts like I showed you anymore, but she still has them. I wanted you to be aware, Vera is not a normal child. We can send her to Xavier's or—"

"No," Clint said sharply. "She's a little girl, Xavier is a good man, but that is no place for a child. That's a decision for her to make for herself when she's older. She needs a childhood, we've can handle Stark, and the Hulk, and the world's worst villains. Tasha and I have the chance and the skills to give this little girl what she needs and maybe even help her. She needs love and support, not training and skill assessments." He took a deep breath, "You are not sending her away." Each word was punctuated by threat.

"Clint," she said in a low voice. "It's okay," she rubbed a soothing hand across his back. Suddenly both minds flashed to the Alaskan cabin when Clint would rub her back and they would sit in healing silence. Vera needed her scars from the Red Room healed, she needed the support of parents, she needed them.

"You're sure about this? There isn't a 30-day return policy on human beings."

"Yes, we're sure."

Fury sighed, "Alright, just sign these." He handed them a thick stack of papers with two pens. They took turns signing papers. Fury hit a button and the SHIELD counselor they saw with Vera came in. She smiled at them sadly. Natasha's hand defiantly held out the paperwork, and the surprised woman took it, looked over it and signed the last page.

"Vera Barton-Romanoff is your daughter now," she smiled, Natasha could tell it was practiced. "Good luck," the counselor added ominously.

Natasha put on her best bitch face and directed it at the woman. Clint had to stifle a laugh as he saw her shiver as they left the room. He put his hand on her lower back and leaned in close to her ear "calm down, lioness. The cub is safe."

Vera sat at a small table coloring a page of dinosaurs bright pink and green, she saw the couple walk up and held up the page excitedly "Look what I drew, Clint!"

"Woah! Those are awesome. Good job! Which one is your favorite?"

"I like this one," she pointed to the brontosaurus. "He looks nice."

"I bet he'd be fun to ride," Clint said, already day dreaming about riding dinosaurs in his head.

"Can we ride one?"

"We'll see what Uncle Tony can do," Natasha said laughing.

"Can we talk to you for a minute, Vera?"

"Sure." She put down her crayons neatly and turned to them with unexpected poise and attention.

"Remember how this morning we talked about you maybe coming and living with us? And Director Fury talked to you and the other kids about finding moms and dads?"

"Yep."

"Well, we want to be your mom and dad, is that okay with you?"

Her little mouth fell open, her stormy eyes which oddly matched Clint's were wide with disbelief. "I can have both of you?"

"Of course! You can have your own room," Natasha said.

"And your own work bench next to mine if you want to help me build stuff!" Clint added, looking to Natasha excitedly for permission

"Can I, please?" She looked to Natasha too.

"Of course, darling."

"So you guys are my momma and papa? now?"

"Yep, but you don't have to call us that if you don't want to. You can just call us Clint and Natasha or really anything."

Vera thought over this for a moment, "What's going to happen to the other kids, Papa?"

His face lit up at the name, "Uncle Fury is going to find moms and dads for them too. Remember Iron Man? He and his boyfriend are going to be dads to one of them."

"So I can still see them if I want?"

"We'll do everything we can if that's what you want," Natasha smiled at her.

"Okay," the pensive looking child nodded her head. "Do we get to go home now?"

"We have to make a stop first. You get to pick out furniture for your bedroom."

"Like the bunks?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. But you can get any kind of bed you want, and do you want your own desk to color on?"

"My very own?" she said with awe.

"All yours!" Clint said happily.

"Do you like the color blue?"

"Like this?" She held up a bright blue crayon.

"More like this," Natasha said holding up a sky blue crayon.

"That's pretty!"

"That's what color your room is. Should we take this crayon with us to remember?"

"That's stealing!" Vera said, shocked look on her face. "I have an idea!" She tore a blank page out of the coloring book and took the crayon from the redheaded spy, and wrote "vera" in wobbly letters on the page. "Now we'll remember!"

"What a good idea, high five!" Clint held up his hand and the little girl joyously slapped his palm. Natasha held out her hand for the little girl and instead of high fiving it, Vera held on. She reached to Clint's hand and grasped it too before announcing it was time to go. The new parents smiled over her head at each other.

* * *

Clint sat in the girl's bedroom putting together the new bed. It was a white wooden day bed, pretty yet heavy duty. They'd bought a matching desk and some bookshelves. He put them together while Natasha showed Vera around the house and property. He could hear the little girl's laughter ringing up through the window and he stood up to see Natasha pushing her on the old tire swing that hung on the tree between the workshop and the house. It had probably been there as long as the house itself, but if Natasha trusted it, so did he. He pushed the bed against the wall and pulled the power drill from his belt. He angled it downwards and drilled through the leg of the bed and into the floor. He screwed a thick bolt into the floor and repeated the step on the four corners of the bed. He tried shaking it, and it was solidly into the floor. Precautions, Natasha had said, would be good. No sense in her hurting herself with her powers. This was not a prison, this was not a training program, this was home, and home was safe. Even if that meant the furniture had to be nailed to the floor. She'd have weekly therapy sessions with SHIELD psychologists until they said stop, but for now she could just be a kid.

"Papa, papa!" he heard hurried footsteps coming from the hall.

"Careful, darling!" Natasha called after her.

The little girl burst into the room holding something in her hands.

"Whatchya got there, princess?"

"We found a frog! I caught it!" she opened her hands carefully and the frog made a leap towards the floor. Her little hands opened to catch it; instead it stopped in midair like the gravity had disappeared. She simply plucked it out of the air, "it's okay, I got him."

Clint's face was a mask of happiness for his daughter, but Natasha could see his "That's awesome" muscles reflexing underneath.

"Is it going to turn into a prince if you kiss him?"

"Frogs do that?"

"Sometimes. That's how your mom found me!"

"It's true," Natasha smiled. "He was a real toad when I caught him. I got pretty lucky!"

The little girl leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the frogs head and frowned after a moment. Clint howled in laughter. "It didn't work."

"Maybe next time. Come on, let's go wash our faces so we don't get sick and put this failed prince back by the pond." Natasha said ushering the child to the bathroom, trying to stifle a giggle herself.

"Hey," Clint took her hand and pulled her too him and kissed her gently.

"Hi."

"You girls having a good time?"

"Yes, she was very excited about the frog."

"Did you see—"

"Yes I did."

"Our daughter is awesome."

"Our daughter," she repeated, smiling and hugging him closer.

"I've got two beautiful girls now."

"I've still got my handsome toad. Well, hawk. Whatever."

He nudged her gently and added a defensive "hey!"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Mama!" Vera's voice rang through the house.

"Coming, darling!" She called, smiling and waving coyly to Clint before leaving in a whoosh of sundress and flaming locks.

Clint sat down on the unmade bed.

For the first time in years, for the first time ever, they had said it aloud. In their daughter's bedroom.

This was the dream he never allowed himself to have, and it was all coming real.


	24. Chapter 24

His smooth voice flowed out of the workshop, a small voice giggled along with it. It was a hot summer day, but the breeze was cool and refreshing and she could smell the sweetness of the field grass and the clear stream that ran through the property.

"Just a New York state of mind," Clint's voice sang out in time with the iHome in the corner of the workshop. Natasha leaned against the peeling door frame of the workshop and watched the archer and their daughter dance. He had her scooped up in one arm, his other arm out, holding her little hand, swaying around the room pretending to lead her in a dance while he sang to her as she laughed and giggled.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Mommy!" Vera smiled and wiggled as Clint set her on the ground, she took off with a running start at her mom. "Wanna see what I made?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

The little girl took her hand and pulled her to the short, colorful workbench next to Clint's own battered, taller version. A wooden plank had been cut into the shape of a boat, a hole drilled in the center with two dowels making the mast and boom. Clint had sewed a piece of an old table cloth into a sail for the boat. "I sanded it and painted it, see!"

"That looks amazing! Good job! Should we go sail it later?"

"Can we do it now?"

"Later. It's time for lunch and practice. And I'm sure papa wants to be there, right?"

"This girl is unsinkable," Clint smiled at his daughter, ruffling her hair.

"Hey!"

"lunch is ready, go wash up and we can have a picnic on the lawn."

"Okay!" the little girl ran off excitedly towards the house. The parents smiled after her, but as soon as she was out of sight they only had eyes for each other.

She pressed up against him. He smelled like saw dust from the shop, gun oil from his weekly weapon's maintenance this morning, sweat, and warmth. She breathed him in, pressing kisses to his neck.

"You'll be back tonight, right?"

"Yeah," his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. "It's just some consulting, it's not a big deal."

"Yeah, I know." She said softly, if it were anyone other than Natasha it would have sounded weak.

"Is the Black Widow becoming sentimental? Is she actually going to miss her prey?"

"Hunting partner," she said smiling into the crook of his neck. "and if you tell anyone I'll kill you."

"The secret of you having actual emotions is one I guard with my life," he laughed. But he was serious. He'd protect her mental wellbeing with everything. Physically she could handle her own, no problem. Even through mental tortures. But emotionally, she was fragile. He was the only one who'd ever seen it, and he'd make damn sure she never broke.

She pulled away and they shared a lingering kiss. They ran at full speed now to keep up with the ever energetic Vera, as well as keeping their training schedule. When they were with each other, they slowed down. Well sometimes. The passionate fuck in the weapons vault this morning proved that gentle was nice, but rough was still amazing. Clint seemed to remember this as his hand snaked down to squeeze the firm swell of her ass over her dress.

"You know, I don't have to be there for another two hours," he said in a heated, rough voice. Breath ghosting against her ear.

"and it takes an hour and a half to drive there without any traffic," she nipped at his neck playfully. He growled and kissed her hard, pushing her body back against his workbench, lifting her to the edge of it. His hands slid the skirt of her dress up her thighs as he pushed between them, denim clad hardness rubbing against her thin panties, already wet in anticipation. "What about Vera?"

Sudden awareness and realization hit his eyes with an after note of frustration. He picked up a walkie-talkie from beside him. There was a bird painted on the back. "Vera, sweetie. Can you set up the picnic for Mommy?"

After a moment an excited voice chirped back, "All by myself?"

"Yeah, make it a surprise for her! Just get the blanket from the couch, all the food is by the door already. Make it look real pretty, like a tea party." Natasha wrapped her legs around his waist and grinded her hips against him while she sucked a deep mark onto his neck. The second his finger came off the com button he let out a moan.

"Can I dress up?" he could practically hear the giddiness in her voice.

"Of course! Grab a pretty hat or some jewelry for Mom too, but only out of the play closet, okay?"

"Okay!"

"Good girl," he smiled before setting the walkie back on the bench. "Walkie's were a good idea." He said before sliding Natasha's off of her belt. The red hourglass on the back painted delicately.

With the big property, poor cell reception, and the weapons room off limits to Vera (though they went down there only when she was asleep, children have the habit of waking up at inconvenient times), they used the walkie's to find each other. Also Vera used hers to cheat at hide and seek. She definitely took after her tricky, resourceful adoptive parents.

"That should buy us a few minutes," he said, hands sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders before they dove into the bodice and cupped her full breasts. The top of the dress pooled around her waist as he massaged them, taking one nipple into his mouth and gently nipping as he rolled his tongue firmly over it.

"Not enough minutes for foreplay though," she said, hands between them undoing his belt and unpopping the button. Deft fingers sliding the zipper down and reaching in to free his cock.

"Pity, I'll just have to make up for it later." He reached under her dress and moved the damped crotch of her panties to the side as he slid into her. They both let out breathy moans as he sunk in fully. She pulled him closer with her strong legs as he bucked up fiercely into her. Her arms were around his neck, bodies embracing in the intense closeness and pleasure. "I think you like this more though, all the sneaking around, fucking like horny teenagers. Does that make you wet, Tasha? All the secrets?"

"Not as hard as it makes you," she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he bucked harder. She could already feel how close she was. "Fuck, Clint." She moaned quietly, heels digging into his ass, wanting to take in every glorious inch with full force.

"So close, oh god, so close."

"Come on, cum in me."

That did it, hearing the plea from her perfect lips tipped him over the edge. Thrusting hard as he emptied himself in her. The feeling of it sending her over the precipice of orgasm. He held her as she shuddered against him for a long moment. Kissing hungrily up her neck until he found her mouth, kissing her deeply. "You're perfect, Tash."

"You're not too bad yourself," she smiled and held him for a moment longer. "You're going to be late. Fury's going to be pissed," she laughed as he helped her down from the precarious position.

"Worth it," he said as he watched her fix her clothes, almost deciding to take them off of her again. "If I recall you have a tea party to get to."

"Princess Vera and Queen Mommy," she said, laughing with a courtesy. "Later, love."

"Later, babe." He smiled as she walked out of the door, hips looking delicious with a post coital swing.

Vera sat on the bright quilt. Somehow she'd gotten Natasha's favorite (and expensive) tea set down from the cupboards, it was spread out on the blanket. The cups filled with iced tea. There were flowers from the garden studding the blanket as decorations. Vera sat with her favorite teddy bear, a one eyed bear (that Natasha had jokingly made an eyepatch for), called Nikoli.

"Hey, sweetpea. This looks great! How did you get those tea cups down?"

"Practice!" She smiled proudly. Natasha gave her a look that was half serious and half laughing. She sat down and Vera handed her a costume jewelry necklace with big emeralds and diamonds. Vera herself was wearing a ruby and yellow topaz necklace. Natasha and Clint had a good laugh when they found them at a local thriftstore, apparently a local drag queen had retired and donated her entire drag closet. Natasha snatched a bunch of the pieces up for dress up with Vera. The jeep passed with a honk and the girls waved, "BYE PAPA!" Vera yelled.

"Hey, I've got an idea. How about we do our practice for today right now?"

"But I already got the tea cups down!" She protested.

"Yeah, but I didn't see that. And you probably shouldn't have," she waggled a finger at the child. "You're going to have to practice sometime today, so we might as well do it now. It'll be like a game, it'll be fun!"

"Fiiiiiiine," the little girl groaned.

Natasha set three paper plates down, one for Vera, one for herself, and lastly one for Nikoli. "Can you take the sandwiches out of the basket?" the small hand reached to open the basket and look where they were, "Nope, no peaking. Remember what Mr. Xavier said?"

The little girl pouted before repeating his words, "Use your energy to feel what's inside before you pick it up."

"That's right. Now go on."

Vera closed her storm blue and concentrated. Her small, jewel clad chest sparkling in the afternoon sun as she breathed deep. Natasha's eyes switched back and forth from the girl to the basket. The edge of the lid opened and a flat Tupperware of grapes came out. Vera opened her eyes and frowned, the Tupperware fell on the blanket without grace. "Darn. It felt like a sandwich!"

Natasha tapped the plastic, "are sandwiches hard?"

"No."

"Try again. But good job! I do love grapes, maybe you're a mind reader too." She smiled and popped the lid off and handed some of the green orbs to her daughter before popping them in her own mouth. Vera chewed her grapes thoughtfully before closing her eyes and repeating her slight mediation again. The lid opened and two sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper came out. Vera's eyes opened and she smiled as she guided them over to the plates and set them down. Natasha clapped her hands. "Awesome! Good job! See, you're getting better every day."

"You put the grapes in there to fool me," She frowned, Natasha shrugged with a guilty smile. The girl had to learn. "There is something else soft in there too."

"Oh? Why don't you take it out."

The lid of the basket opened and out came a blue frosted cupcake. "CUPCAKE!" the little girl squeeled in delight. It wobbled in the air, almost falling.

"Careful, careful. Learn to control the flow of energy," Natasha said plucking the dessert out of the air. "Though, we can wait on that for now," she said handing her daughter the cupcake. "One more thing, and we can eat." The little girl huffed but straightened up and mumbled an apology when Natasha gave her a firm look. "Pour me some tea." She held up the cup.

"That's hard!"

"Precision is something that's really important Vera. You know how Papa is so good with his arrows at hitting the target. That's precision. Remember when he shot that apple off your head?"

"Yeah!" her eyes lit up with the exciting memory.

"Wouldn't you like to be able to do stuff like that?"

"I guess."

"Then pour me some tea."

The little girl concentrated on the tea pot, which slowly raised from the blanket. She stuck her arms out, like she herself was holding it, though it was at least a foot away from her. She brought it over to Natasha's cup and tilted it, her hands tilting with it like she was making sure the lit stayed on. The stream of tea hit the edge of the cup and spilled onto the saucer, she scooted it over and it poured smoothly into the cup.

"Good job!" Natasha took a grinning sip as Vera floated the teapot back to rest on the blanket.

"Phew!" the little girl whipped her hand across her brow in mock exhaustion.

"Papa would be so proud."

"Yeah?"

"Of course!"

The little girl smiled. She picked up her sandwich and began eating, "He said you were in the Red Room too."

"I was. When did he tell you that?"

"Last night. I had a bad dream, about Comrade Barnes and Doctor Val."

"I'm sorry."

"You're the Black Widow, right mommy?"

"Yep."

"You escaped?"

"Your papa helped me. You know how two teams play against each other in sports, or how you and papa play against each other in go fish?" The little girl nodded, chewing and listening contently. The girl hadn't been in long enough to learn much of the Room rhetoric, Natasha was grateful for that. "Well we were on different teams. And we were supposed to hurt each other. But he decided to help me instead."

"Why'd he do that?"

"Because I was so pretty," she winked and Vera giggled. "And because he's a good man."

"You guys are superheroes, right? Uncle Tony and Uncle Bruce, and Uncle Thor too?"

"Yep! We're all on the same team. Though, we're only superheroes sometimes. You're our main job now," she said, playfully "booping" the child on the nose.

"Can I be a superhero one day?"

Natasha didn't want her daughter in that line of work, that life style, in a tight leather and spandex suit. But if that's what Vera chose, she couldn't stop her. "If you want to."

"Is that what practice is for?"

"No, sweetie. It's so you can learn how to control your powers, so you don't get hurt or don't accidently hurt anyone else. If you want to use them to be a superhero one day though, you have to keep practicing."

"So if I don't want to be a superhero, I don't have to practice?" She smiled brightly at her mom.

"Nope, still have to practice. Nice try though."

"Darn. I'm going to be a superhero then."


	25. Chapter 25

_**Author's Note: **This is an interlude chapter (like chapter 6) about both Clint and Natasha's feelings over the events so far, and how they are faring with the changes. there's not really much story, its fill in and follow up. I think chapters like this are important to truly understand what our protagonists are going through. Enjoy._

* * *

He slips out of bed and he knows it wakes her, but only for a moment when she realizes there's no danger and her eyes slip shut again. He slips down the hallway to the other occupied bedroom. Pinpoint lights, a map of the stars spill out of the room softly. A gift from Uncle Tony to keep the monsters of the dark away. He walks without a sound, as if he doesn't even actually touch the floor. He is, afterall, a predator of the skies. He just has to make sure she's alright. He's got a family now. It's not just him, or just Natasha. It's Vera too. She's sound asleep. Twitching in the way children do when they are deep in sleep, but she's got a smile on her face. He picks her teddy bear off the floor where it's fallen and sets it next to her pillow and leaves. There's so much more at stake now. Back into his room, past his sleeping wife, and out the window. He sits on the roof, the shingles hard and gritty against the palms of his hands as he leans back. The autumn breeze feels good across his bare torso and flowing through his cotton sleep pants. He likes it up here. It's like all his old perches. Not that he misses his old life, he doesn't. The women, the gambling, the booze. It was hollow. Trying to fill him up with anything to make him feel okay. But it just got him in trouble. He liked the bar fights, the good booze, and furious fucks. But now it seemed shallow. He had Natasha to spar with, and she was a better fighter than any mob hired thug. She also liked good alcohol and the sex was not just mind blowing, but he finally understood what "making love" meant. He'd spent so much time trying to block out not having her, trying to replace her, that he never saw she felt the same way. Now he had her. He had more than her. He had Vera too. Beautiful Vera, with her blonde curls and stormy blue eyes, and her freckles that became more and more apparent as the summer wore on. It had been five months since they brought her home. Her sixth birthday was next month, he was carving her a bow, Natasha wasn't happy about it, but he didn't care. Sometimes he just stood back and watched them together, Natasha and Vera. His girls, his family, his loves. Natasha was still afraid, worried about being a good mom, but it came so naturally to her, and it only made her more beautiful to him.

He wished Coulson was still around. The blood loss from his fight with Loki had cost him his career. Starved his brain of oxygen, permanent brain damage. It's not as bad as it could have been. He lost his memory of his time in SHIELD, with Clint. Of his military career, and basically everything. But being a smart man, he'd had a whole other life planned. He was a mailman in Seattle now. Clint almost laughed. They'd always joked about Agent K being his father, but now he was Agent K. Except his name was Phil Coulson, he was a mailman for the US Postal Service. He and his new wife just had a baby. Fury classified Phil as a DNC, do not contact. But he never said Clint couldn't check up on him. And so that's what he does once and a while. Just to make sure the man that saved his ass and kept his secrets has someone to do the same. But he still misses him. Coulson would be happy for him. He had Tony to joke around with, play pranks on the others when Natasha was being a serious adult. He had Steve and Thor to drink and do man stuff with, they even confided in each other. But there'd always be an irreplaceable spot in his heart for Phil Coulson.

He heard Natasha sit up sharply in bed, gasping for air, "Tasha?" she didn't answer. Her posture was unlike his Natasha. "Nat?" Her head twitched little in his direction. "Natalia?"

The Russian words came out of the half dark cold and defensive, "This isn't where I'm supposed to be."

"No it's not," he could see her bristling, readying for a fight. "This is Natasha's house."

"Who the fuck us Natasha?"

"Do you remember Vera, Nat?"

And suddenly Natalia crumbled. The cold hatred shuddered out of her posture and transformed into something smoother, but still defensive. "Clint?" She asked quietly.

He crawled back through the window at the head of their bed, and next to her. He ran a hand over her hair and pulled her close, she was still shaking. "It's okay, you're back now. It's okay."

This would happen every so often, the way your worst nightmares come around the second you stopped wondering when they'd be back. She'd wake up as someone else. Sometimes she'd fight him, try to escape whatever place they were in, not remembering the new life she had. It had been happening as long as she had been Natasha. Natalia was still always there. Just like Bruce and the Other Guy. She always felt guilty, for not being able to control it better. But now it scared her. What if she woke up and hurt Vera? That was her biggest fear. Something that ran so deep, Clint knew it would knock Natalia out of her. She let him hold her, breathing in the smell of his skin and the night air on him. Even when they had just been partners, he always knew how to comfort her best. He could always see beneath her, he knew what vicious things went on in her head, and he knew how to calm them. And she could see beneath Clint's gruff hardness. Maybe that's why they worked so well together, she thought. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever entertain becoming a mother. She never had the chance to even have a babydoll as a little girl. But when he suggested a child, despite the initial panic that swept her, if there was anyone who would have her back through anything, even parenthood, it would be Clint. She was too afraid to see what a biological child would turn out as. To afraid that the Red Room altered her permanently to destroy any chance of a happy, well child. But then they destroyed the Red Room. And there was Vera. Despite the horrors, the experiments, and the tortures of the Red Room, Vera was happy. She was resilient, she refused to give up or give in. Natasha may have not given birth to her, but she knew Vera was her daughter. The shocking match up of Vera and Clint's eyes and hair was just a stranger coincidence, but she didn't care. She would protect Vera with her life, even from Natalia, even from herself.

The last year had been Hell on Earth. But she realized after everything, she had Clint, who was her everything. She had Bruce who was her confidant and closest friend. She had Steve and Thor to watch out for Clint. She had Maria and Jane to spend real girl time with. She even had Tony's care, in all his ridiculously lavish and outlandish affections. She had Nick Fury, who was the closest thing she ever had to a father, and was coming over for dinner with the rest of the team this weekend. She had gone from having nothing, not even herself to trust, to having Clint, to having the entire team. The exponential growth was still something that baffled her, but she accepted it with grace. She loved her newly found and formed family.

"Clint?"

"Yeah, babe?" he answered sleepily against her hair, still holding her close.

"You're the best partner a person could ask for," she said, actually saying volumes more.

"Right back atchya."


	26. Chapter 26

_**Author's note:** It is with a heavy heart that I say this is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue in the next couple days, to show the futures of Clint and Natasha and Vera. Writing this has been one of the most intense writing journeys I've ever willingly undertaken. with over 190 alerts, over 100 favorites, and close to 55k views, I can't possibly explain my amazement at everyone who stuck through every bitter, heartbreaking chapter to get to this fluffy gooey center I totally never intended to reach. Truth be told, this was going to be a death!fic in the end, but as I wrote more, as I became a conduit for these characters, I couldn't possibly give them anything less than they deserved, which after everything they have been through is happiness. It might not be perfect, but neither are Clint and Natasha. Without further ado, I present the last actual chapter of Games._

_Thank you._

* * *

"It's a little late as a house warming gift or whatever, but here," Fury shoved the bottle of expensive wine at Clint. He was in a sweater and slacks, something Clint never thought he'd see.

"Thanks, sir."

"No need for sir, tonight, Barton. Where the hell is everyone?"

"In the back yard," Clint said leading the way. He opened the porch door to reveal that Fury had been the last to arrive. Tony and Bruce sat chatting with Natasha, Tony's arms flailing wildly as he tried to explain something no one but Bruce could even fathom. Steve and Thor had taken over the grill in Clint's absence. Thor's confused look and Steve's tactical expression meant he was explaining something Midgardian to the god. Jane hovered next to Thor, trying to explain what Steve was saying, but failing. Vera, and the Banner-Stark twins, Malcolm and Alexi, were running about, playing some game of the imagination that could only be understood by someone under the age of ten. "Last warm night of the season, we figured we could grill out while it was still nice out and go inside if it gets chilly later."

Fury nodded, taking in the sight. A smile cracked his hard face, "You've done good, Barton." He clapped the man on the back. Clint smiled in both surprise and shock.

"Thank you, sir."

"It's just Nick tonight, Barton…Never thought when I plucked your sorry ass out of the Marines twenty years ago this would ever happen."

"Neither did I."

"You tamed the Black Widow and made yourself a family."

As if on cue, Natasha punched Tony in the arm and he yelped and winced. Clint and Nick laughed, "You and I both know that there is no taming Natasha."

"Fair enough, Barton. Fair enough."

Just then the kids spotted the director and came running over amid hails of "Uncle Nick!"

"Heya, kiddos," he scooped Vera up and ruffled the twins' hair.

"We captured the bad guys!" Vera said proudly.

"Oh did you? Why don't you show me where you're keeping them," he said as Alexi grabbed his free hand and led him away.

Clint walked over to where Natasha and Tony were argue and Bruce was caught between laughing and stopping them.

"I'm just saying, the right hackers can glean just as much information as you can," Tony protesting.

"You forget that not everyone uses digital means to story their records, my job will never be obsolete."

"That's what you think, sweetheart."

"Yikes, stop it you two, there are children around," he cut in, placing a hand on the small of his wife's back to calm her down. "Tony you're a genius and an asshole, and Tash you're the best at your job and irreplaceable and stubborn. Argument settled." Tony and Natasha fumed, and Bruce just continued to laugh.

"We need to have dinner parties more often, this is great."

"Dinner is served!" Thor's voice suddenly boomed.

The adults formed an orderly line and the children paired up with their parents to get their food. Steve served everyone and places at the table were squabbled over and taken. Natasha at the head, Clint at one side, and Vera at the other. Bruce, Alexi, Tony, and Malcolm on Vera's side, and Thor, Jane, and Steve on the other side (Thor and Steve took up extra space being huge), with Fury at the other head of the table. Everyone dove into their food hungrily, laughing and eating. Someone asked for the potato salad, and Vera thought it a good opportunity to show off what she'd been practicing. The table sat stunned as she floated the bowl to Uncle Nick's vicinity, and the spoon lifted out and plopped a perfect amount of the food on his plate. Everyone clapped, and cheered. Vera blushed.

"Looks like Mr. Xavier's been doing a good job tutoring!"

"Dad!" the twins echoed at Tony, "Can we do that?"

Bruce laughed as Tony tried to formulate an answer that wouldn't disappoint them, "No, but I can build you something just as cool. Sorry, boys. Your cousin got the cool genes."

Natasha leaned over and kissed Vera's hair, "good job, sweetheart."

When dessert was brought out (a large fruit tarte courtesy of Steve, who was turning out to be quite the artist in the kitchen as well) Natasha stood up.

"So, it's time for a clichéd speech and you're all going to suck it up and listen."

"I always listen," Vera announced, proudly.

"I wouldn't say always, but thank you sweetheart" Natasha smiled among the laughter. "Anyways," she continued, "This was a future I never ever expected, and this family," she gestured to not just Clint and Vera, but to the whole table, "was something I never thought I'd have. But I'm so thankful for all of you, and this team. I'm not one to get sentimental, and if any of you let this little speech leave this table, you'll be in trouble," she laughed but no one doubted her. "Clint and I are honored to open our home to you guys, and we're so happy that you could all come, we wish some others could be here, but we know they're here in spirit." A moment of silence passed over the table as they all took a moment to remember Phil. "We know that news of our marriage was pretty surprising to a lot of you,"

"Not _that_ surprising," Tony interjected. "I mean come on, look at you two."

Natasha shot him a look. "Anyways, we have another surprise for you. I'm pregnant." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"and it's a boy! And we're going to name him Phil!" Clint burst out in the stunned silence.

"Oh god this is turning into one of those clichéd movies, isn't it?" Natasha groaned as everyone clapped and congratulated the couple.

"Yeah, but out of all the people we know, you deserve only the happiest of endings," Fury said as he hugged her.

That night as they lay in bed, Clint watched his sleeping wife, hand gently resting on the growing bump of her lower torso. He thought back to the moment in Alaska when he thought people like them didn't get happy endings, that they didn't get that kind of story. Maybe they did, he thought as she smiled and rolled towards him, curling up against him. Maybe it was that kind of story.


	27. Chapter 27: EPILOGUE

"Artemis, you have the go ahead."

"Copy that, Director."

She took a breath to center herself before extending her force over the compound. She could feel the heavy metal door to the cell, and behind it, two huddled figures. She closed her eyes to focus, dipping into the seams of the complex lock and working the tumblers.

"We don't have all day, Artemis. Enemies enroute to your locale, ETA three minutes. Armed," the voice spoke cooly into her ear piece. She ripped it out. She needed to focus.

The tumblers were cool and heavy. There were so many of them, she had to strain to feel the wear marks along their lengths. Suddenly, almost surprising herself, the last one clicked into place and the lock opened. She pulled the heavy door back while her force was still there, knowing it was too heavy to open effectively with her arms.

"Artemis!" Castor and Pollux greeted from behind the door. The twins braced each other. SHIELD suits torn and bloodied, but nothing they wouldn't survive. You could already see where the Stark Industries nanobots had begun repairing their wounds microscopically.

"Baddies inbound. Let's get to Phil and get the hell out of here," She said before they took off jogging. She replaced her comm, "Greek's to Soccer Mom, is the minivan here?"

"Be right there, sis. And don't call me Soccer Mom."

"See you at the rendezvous, SM."

She could hear the director angry in hear ear but she took out the ear piece again and focused on getting to the quinjet.

"That was irresponsible and could have cost us not only your lives, but the lives of the back up team, our hidden agents, and the intel we have been working on getting for months. You pull that shit again and you're going to be on an extended suspension, do you understand me, Agent Artemis?" Natasha glared angrily at the agent.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dismissed." The redheaded director said before crumbling back into a mother and grabbing Vera to her. "If you do that shit again you are grounded. No missions for a month. And stop calling your brother Soccer Mom."

"Sorry, mom."

"Just because he's your handler, and basically wrangles you like children doesn't mean you get the chance to berate him all the time. He's your little brother, so be nice or he'll fuck with your weapons."

"Probably."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"The Stark Twins are in the medical bay if you want to see them."

"Where's dad?"

"He's busy coordinating training procedures for the new recruites."

"Ahh, what kind?"

"Marksmen, snipers, and spotters."

"So basically they're fucked?"

"Language! And yes. Uncle Tony and Bruce wanted to see you, they've got some new suits for you to try out. And Tony wants to talk to you into some thrusters. And Xavier has some new students for you to meet soon, do you have weekend plans with Alexi?"

"No, I can do Sunday. And woo new flight trials!" she mocked with an eye roll. Tony had been trying to get all the agents airborne, it wasn't working in his favor.

"He just wants you to be safe."

"I know."

"Vera, you did good. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Director Romanoff." She saluted her mother before hugging her and bounding off to the lab. Just another day at SHIELD.


End file.
